"  He  seized  me  by  both  hands,  looking  in  my  face  curiously  and 
eagerly."    See  page  76 


For  Faith  and  Freedom 


BY 


WALTER  BESANT 

Author  of  "All  in  a  Garden  Fair,"  etc. 


FIFTH  AVENUE   PUBLISHING   COMPANY 
NEW  YORK 


?  A 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 


CHAPTER  L 

FAREWELL  SUNDAY. 


The  morning  of  Sunday,  August  the  23d,  in  the  year  ot 
grace  1662,  should  have  been  black  and  gloomy,  with  the 
artillery  of  rolling  thunder,  dreadful  flashes  of  lightning, 
and  driving  hail  and  wind  to  strip  the  orchards  and  lay  low 
the  corn.  For  on  that  day  was  done  a  thing  which  filled 
the  whole  country  with  grief,  and  bore  bitter  fruit,  in  after- 
years,  of  revenge  and  rebellion.  Because  it  was  the  day 
before  that  formerly  named  after  Bartholomew,  the  dis- 
ciple, it  hath  been  called  the  Black  Bartholomew  of  England, 
thus  being  likened  with  that  famous  day  (approved  by  the 
pope)  when  the  Frencn  l^rotestants  were  treacherously 
massacred  by  their  king.  It  should  rather  be  called  "  Fare- 
well Sunday,"  or  "Exile  Sunday,"  because  on  that  day  two 
thousand  godly  ministers  preached  their  last  sermon  in  the 
churches  where  they  had  labored  worthily  and  with  good 
fruit,  some  during  the  time  of  the  Protector,  and  some  even 
longer,  because  among  them  were  a  few  who  possessed  their 
benefices  even  in  the  time  of  the  late  King  Charles  the  First, 
And,  since  on  that  day  two  thousand  ministers  left  their 
churches  and  their  houses,  and  laid  down  their  worldly 
wealth  for  conscience'  sake,  there  were  also  as  many  wives 
who  went  with  them,  and,  I  dare  say,  three  or  four  times  as 
many  innocent  and  helpless  babes.  And,  further  (it  is  said 
that  the  time  was  fixed  by  design  and  deliberate  malice  of  our 
enemies),  the  ministers  were  called  upon  to  make  their 
choice  only  a  week  or  two  before  the  day  of  the  collection 
of  their  tithes.     In  other  words,  they  were  sent  forth  to  the 


4  t^Ok  FATTH  AND  FREEDOM. 

world  al  the  season  when  their  purses  were  the  leanest  ;  iii- 
deed,  with  most  country  clergymen,  their  purses  shortly 
before  the  collection  of  tithes  become  well-nigh  empty.  It 
was  also  unjust  that  their  successors  should  be  permitted  to 
collect  tithes  due  to  those  who  were  ejected. 

It  is  fitting  to  begin  this  history  with  the  Black  Bartholo- 
mew, because  all  the  troubles  and  adventures  which  after- 
wards befell  us  were  surely  caused  by  that  accursed  day. 
One  knows  not,  certainly,  what  other  rubs  might  have  been 
ordained  for  us  by  a  wise  Providence  (always  with  the 
merciful  design  of  keeping  before  our  eyes  the  vanity  of 
worldly  things,  the  instability  of  fortune,  the  uncertainty  of 
life,  and  the  wisdom  of  looking  for  a  hereafter  which  shall 
be  lasting,  stable,  and  satisfying  to  the  soul. )  Still  it  must 
be  confessed,  such  trials  as  were  appointed  unto  us  were, 
in  severity  and  continuance,  far  beyond  those  appointed  to 
the  ordinary  sort,  so  that  I  cannot  but  feel  at  times  uplifted 
(I  hope  not  sinfully)  at  having  been  called  upon  to  endure 
so  much.  Let  me  not,  however,  be  proud.  Had  it  not 
been  for  this  day,  for  certain  our  boys  would  not  have  been 
tempted  to  strike  a  blow — vain  and  useless  as  it  proved — 
for  the  Protestant  religion  and  for  liberty  of  conscience  : 
while  perhaps  I  should  now  be  forbidden  to  relate  our  suf- 
ferings, were  it  not  for  the  glorious  revolution  which  has  re- 
stored toleration,  secured  the  Protestant  ascendency,  and 
driven  into  banishment  a  prince,  concerning  whom  all 
honest  men  pray  that  he  and  his  son  (if  he  have,  indeed,  a 
son  of  his  own)  may  never  again  have  authority  over  this 
realm. 

This  Sunday,  I  say,  should  have  wept  tears  of  rain  over 
the  havoc  which  it  witnessed  ;  yet  it  was  fine  and  clear,  the 
sun  riding  in  splendor,  and  a  warm  summer  air  blowing 
among  the  orchards  and  over  the  hills  and  around  the  vil- 
lage of  Bradford  Orcas,  in  the  shire  of  Somerset.  The 
wheat  (for  the  season  was  late)  stood  gold-colored  in  the 
fields,  ready  at  last  for  the  reaper ;  the  light  breeze  bent 
down  the  ears  so  that  they  showed  like  waves  over  which 
the  passing  clouds  make  light  and  shade  ;  the  apples  in  the 
orchards  were  red  and  yellow  and  nearly  ripe  for  the  press  , 
in  the  gardens  of  the  ]\Ianor  House,  hard  by  the  church,  the 
sunflowers  and  the  hollyhocks  were  at  their  tallest  and  their 
best ;  the  yellow  roses  on  the  wall  were  still  in  clusters  ;  the 
sweet-peas  hung  with  tangles  of  vine  and  flower  upon  their 
stalks  ;  the  bachelors'  buttons,  the  sweet  mignonette,  the 
nasturtium,  the  gillyflowers  and  stocks,  the  sweetwilliam* 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  j 

and  the  pansies,  offered  their  late  summer  blossoms  to  the 
hot  sun  among  the  lavender,  thyme,  parsley,  sage,  feverfew 
and  vervain  of  my  lady's  garden.  Oh  !  I  know  how  it  all 
looked,  though  I  was  as  yet  unborn.  How  many  times 
have  I  stood  in  the  churchyard  and  watched  the  same  scene 
at  the  same  sweet  season  !  On  a  week-day  one  hears  the 
thumping  and  the  groaning  of  the  mill  below  the  church  ; 
there  are  the  voices  of  the  men  at  work,  the  yo-hoing  of 
the  boys  who  drive,  and  the  lumbering  of  the  carts.  You 
can  even  hear  the  spinning-wheels  at  work  in  the  cottages. 
On  Sunday  morning  everything  is  still,  save  for  the  war- 
bling of  the  winged  tribe  in  the  wood,  the  cooing  of  the 
doves  in  the  cot,  the  clucking  of  the  hens,  the  grunting  of 
the  pigs,  and  the  droning  of  the  bees.  These  things  dis- 
turb not  the  meditations  of  one  who  is  accustomed  to  them. 

At  eight  o'clock  in  the  morning,  the  sexton,  an  ancient 
man  and  rheumatic,  hobbled  slowly  through  the  village, 
key  in  hand,  and  opened  the  church  door.  Then  he  went 
into  the  tower  and  rang  the  first  bell.  I  suppose  this  bell  is 
designed  to  hurry  housewives  with  their  morning  work,  and 
to  admonish  the  men  that  they  incline  their  hearts  to  a 
spiritual  disposition.  This  done,  the  sexton  set  open  the 
doors  of  the  pews,  swept  out  the  squire's  and  the  rector's  in 
the  chancel,  dusted  the  cushions  of  the  pulpit  (the  reading- 
desk  at  this  time  was  not  used),  opened  the  clasps  of  the 
great  Bible,  and  swept  down  the  aisle  :  as  he  had  done 
Sunday  after  Sunday  for  fifty  years.  When  he  had  thus 
made  the  church  ready  for  the  day's  service,  he  went  into 
the  vestry,  which  had  only  been  used  since  the  establish- 
ment of  the  Commonwealth  for  the  registers  of  birth,  death, 
and  marriage. 

At  one  side  of  the  vestry  stood  an  ancient  black-oak 
coffer,  the  sides  curiously  graven,  and  a  great  rusty  key  in 
the  lock.  The  sexton  turned  the  key  with  some  difficulty, 
threw  open  the  lid,  and  looked  in. 

"Ay,"  he  said,  chuckling,  "the  old  surplice  and  the  old 
Book  of  Common  Prayer.  Ye  have  had  a  long  rest ;  'tis 
time  for  both  to  come  out  again.  When  the  surplice  is  out 
the  book  will  stay  no  longer  locked  up.  These  two  go  in  and 
out  together.  I  mind  me  now — "'  Here  he  sat  down,  and 
his  thoughts  wandered  for  a  space  ;  perhaps  he  saw  himself 
once  more  a  boy  running  in  the  fields,  or  a  young  man 
courting  a  maid.  Presently  he  returned  to  the  task  befor«r 
him,  and  drew  forth  an  old  and  yellow  roll  which  he  shook 
cut     It  was    the   surplice   which   had   oncp    been  white. 


t  FOX  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

''Here  you  are,"  he  said;  "put  you  away  for  a  matter  of 
twelve  year  and  more  and  you  bide  your  time  ;  you  know 
you  will  come  back  again  ;  you  are  not  in  any  hurry.  Even 
the  sexton  dies  ;  but  you  die  not,  you  bide  your  time. 
Everything  comes  again.  The  old  woman  shall  give  you 
a  taste  o'  the  suds  and  the  hot  iron.  Thus  we  go  up  and 
thus  we  go  down.'  He  put  back  the  surplice  and  locked 
the  great  Book  of  Common  Prayer — musty  and  damp  after 
twelve  years'  imprisonment.  "  Fie  1 "  he  said,  "  the  leather 
is  parting  from  the  boards,  and  the  leaves  they  do  stick  to- 
gether, Shalt  have  a  pot  of  paste,  and  then  lie  in  the  sun 
before  thou  goest  back  to  the  desk  ;  whether  'tis  mass  or 
Common  Prayer,  whether  'tis  Independent  or  Presbyterian, 
folk  mun  still  die  and  be  buried — ay,  and  married  and  born 
— whatever  they  do  say.  Parson  goes  and  preacher  comes  ; 
preacher  goes  and  parson  comes;  but  sexton  stays."  He 
chuckled  again,  put  back  the  surplice  and  the  book,  and 
locked  the  coffer. 

Then  he  slowly  went  down  the  church  and  came  out  of 
the  porch,  blinking  in  the  sun  and  shading  his  old  eyss. 
He  sat  down  upon  the  flat  stones  of  the  old  cross,  and  pres- 
ently nodded  his  head  and  dropped  off  asleep. 

It  was  a  strange  indifference  in  the  man.  A  great  and 
truly  notable  thing  was  to  be  accomplished  that  day.  But 
he  cared  nothing.  Two  thousand  godly  and  learned  men 
were  to  go  forth  into  poverty  for  liberty  of  conscience — this 
man's  own  minister  was  one  of  them.  He  cared  nothing. 
The  king  was  sowing  the  seed  from  which  should  spring  a 
rod  to  drive  forth  his  successor  from  the  kingdom.  In  the 
village  the  common  sort  were  not  moved.  Nothing  con- 
cerns the  village  folk  but  the  weather  and  the  market  prices. 
As  for  the  good  sexton,  he  was  very  old  :  he  had  seen  the 
Church  of  England  displaced  by  the  Presbyterians  and  the 
Presbyterians  by  the  Independents,  and  now  these  were 
again  to  be  supplanted  by  the  Church  of  England.  He  had 
been  sexton  through  all  these  changes.  He  heeded  them 
not ;  why,  his  father,  sexton  before  him,  could  remember 
when  the  mass  was  said  in  the  church  and  the  Virgin  was 
worshipped,  and  the  folk  were  driven  like  sheep  to  confes- 
sion. All  the  time  the  people  went  on  being  born,  and 
marrying,  and  dying.  Creed  doth  not,  truly,  affect  these 
things  nor  the  sexton's  work.  Therefore  this  old  gaffer, 
having  made  sure  that  the  surplice  was  in  the  place  where 
it  had  lain  undisturbed  for  a  dozen  years,  and  remembering 
that  it  must  be  washed  and  ironed  fur  the  following  Sunday, 


FOR  FAITFI  AND  FREEDOM.  j 

sat  down  to  bask  in  the  sun,  his  mind  at  rest,  and  dropped 
off  into  a  gentle  sleep. 

At  ten  o'clock  the  bell-ringers  came  trampling  up  the  stone 
steps  from  the  road,  and  the  sexton  woke  up.  At  ten  they 
used  to  begin  their  chimes,  but  at  the  hour  they  ring  for  live 
minutes  only,  ending  with  the  clash  of  all  five  bells  together. 
At  a  quarter-past  ten  they  chime  again,  for  the  service, 
which  begins  at  half-past  ten. 

At  the  sound  of  these  chimes  the  whole  village  begins  to 
move  slowly  towards  the  church.  First  come  the  children, 
the  bigger  ones  leading  those  who  are  little  by  the  hand  ; 
the  boys  come  next,  but  unwillingly,  because  the  sexton  is 
diligent  with  his  cane,  and  some  of  those  who  now  go  up 
the  steps  to  the  church  will  comedown  with  smarting  backs, 
the  reward  of  those  who  play  or  laugh  during  the  service. 
Then  come  the  young  men,  who  stand  about  the  church- 
yard and  whisper  to  each  other.  After  them  follow  the 
elders  and  the  married  men,  with  the  women  and  the  girls. 
Five  minutes  before  the  half-hour  the  ringers  change  the 
chime  for  a  single  bell.  Then  those  who  are  outside  gather 
in  the  porch  and  wait  for  the  quality 

When  the  single  bell  began,  there  came  forth  from  the  rec- 
tory the  rector  himself,  Mr.  Comfort  Eykin,  Doctor  of 
Divinity,  who  was  this  day  to  deliver  his  soul  and  lay  down 
his  charge.  He  wore  the  black  gown  and  Geneva  bands, 
for  the  use  of  which  he  contended.  At  this  time  he  was  a 
young  man  of  thirty — tall  and  thin.  He  stooped  in  the 
shoulders  because  he  was  continually  reading ;  his  face  was 
grave  and  austere  ;  his  nose  thin  and  aquiline  ;  his  eyes 
bright — never  was  any  man  with  brighter  eyes  than  my 
father  ;  his  hair,  which  he  wore  long,  was  brown  and  curly  ; 
his  forehead  high,  rather  than  broad  ;  his  lips  were  firm. 
In  these  days,  as  my  mother  hath  told  me,  and  as  I  well  be- 
lieve, he  was  a  man  of  singular  comeliness,  concerninj^ 
which  he  cared  nothing.  Always  from  childhood  upwarcl 
he  had  been  grave  in  conversation  and  seriously  inclined  in 
mind.  If  I  think  of  my  father  as  a  boy  (no  one  ever  seems 
to  thmk  that  his  father  was  once  a  boy),  I  am  fain  to  com- 
pare him  with  Humphrey,  save  for  certain  bodily  defects, 
my  father  having  been  like  a  priest  of  the  altar  for  bodily 
perfection.  That  is  to  say,  I  am  sure  that,  like  Humphrey, 
he  had  no  need  of  rod  or  ferule  to  make  him  learn  his  lessons, 
and,  like  that  dear  and  fond  friend  of  my  childhood,  he 
would  willingly  sit  in  a  corner  and  read  a  book  while  the 
the  other  boys  played  and   \\cnt    a-lumting  or  a-nesting. 


8  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

And  very  early  in  life  he  was  smitten  with  the  conviction 
of  sin,  and  blessed  with  such  an  inward  assurance  of  salva- 
tion as  made  him  afterwards  steadfast  in  all  afflictions. 

He  was  not  a  native  of  this  country,  having  been  born  in 
New  England.  He  came  over,  being  then  eighteen  years 
of  age,  to  study  at  Oxford,  that  university  being  purged  of 
malignants,  and,  at  the  time,  entirely  in  the  hands  of  the 
godly.  He  was  entered  of  BaUiol  College,  of  which  society 
he  became  a  fellow,  and  was  greatly  esteemed  for  his 
learning,  wherein  he  excelled  most  of  the  scholars  of  his 
time.  He  knew  and  could  read  Hebrew,  Chaldee,  and  the 
ancient  Syriac,  as  well  as  Latin  and  Greek.  Of  modern 
languages  he  had  acquired  Arabic,  by  the  help  of  which  he 
had  read  the  book  which  is  called  the  Koran  of  the  False 
Prophet  Mohammed  ;  French  and  Italian  he  also  knew  and 
could  read  easily.  As  for  his  opinions,  he  was  an  In- 
dependent, and  that  not  meekly  or  with  hesitation,  but  with 
such  zeal  and  vehemence  that  he  considered  all  who  dif- 
lered  from  him  as  his  personal  enemies — nay,  the  very 
enemies  of  God,  For  this  reason,  and  because  his  personal 
habits  were  too  austere  for  those  who  attained  not  to  his 
spiritual  height,  he  was  more  feared  than  loved.  Yet  his 
party  looked  upon  him  as  their  greatest  and  stoutest  cham- 
pion. 

He  left  Oxford  at  the  age  ot  five  or  six  and  twenty,  and 
accepted  the  living  of  Bradford  Orcas,  offered  him  by  Sir 
Christopher  Challis  at  that  place.  Here  he  had  preached  for 
six  years,  looking  forward  to  nothing  else  than  to  remain 
there,  advancing  in  grace  and  wisdom,  until  the  end  of  his 
days.  So  much  was  ordered,  indeed,  for  him  ;  but  not 
quite  as  he  had  designed.  Let  no  man  say  that  he  knoweth 
the  future,  or  that  he  can  shape  out  his  destiny.  You  shall 
hear  presently  how  Benjamin  arrogantly  resolved  that  his 
future  should  be  what  he  chose,  and  what  came  of  that  im- 
pious resolution. 

My  father's  face  was  always  austere  ;  this  morning  it  was 
more  serious  and  sterner  than  customary,  because  the  day  was 
to  him  the  most  important  in  his  life,  and  he  was  about  to 
pass  from  a  position  of  plenty  (the  Rectory  of  Bradford 
Orcas  is  not  rich,  but  it  affords  asut^ciency)  to  one  of  penury. 
Those  who  knew  him,  however,  had  no  doubt  of  the  course 
he  was  about  to  take.  Even  the  rustics  knew  that  their 
minister  would  never  consent  to  wear  a  surplice  or  to  read 
the  Book  of  Common  Prayer,  or  to  keep  holy  days — you 
have  seen  how  the  sextoii  opened  the  box  and  took  out  th? 


POR  FAITH  AND  FREEDO.\t.  ^ 

surplice  ;  yet  my  father  had  said  nothing  to  him  concerning 
his  intentions. 

In  his  hand  he  carried  his  Bible — his  own  copy,  I  have  it 
still,  the  margins  covered  with  notes  in  his  writing — bound 
in  black  leather,  worn  by  constant  handling,  with  brass 
clasps.  Upon  his  head  he  had  a  plain  black  silk  cap,  which 
he  wore  constantly  in  his  study  and  at  meals  to  keep  ofi 
draughts.  Indeed,  I  loved  to  see  him  with  his  silk  cap 
rather  than  with  his  tall  steeple-hat,  with  neither  ribbon  nor 
ornament  of  any  kind,  in  which  he  rode  when  he  after- 
wards went  about  the  country  to  break  the  law  in  exhort- 
ing and  praying  with  his  friends. 

Beside  him  walked  my  mother,  holding  in  her  hand  her 
boy,  my  brother  Barnaby,  then  three  years  of  age.  As  for 
me,  I  was  not  yet  born.  She  had  been  weeping ;  her  eyes 
were  red  and  swollen  with  tears  ;  but  when  she  entered  the 
church  she  wept  no  more,  bravely  listening  to  the  words 
which  condemned  to  poverty  and  hardship  herself  and  her 
children,  if  any  more  should  be  born  to  her.  Alas,  poor 
soul  I  What  had  she  done  that  this  affliction  should  befall 
her  ?  What  had  her  innocent  boy  done  }  For  upon  her — 
not  upon  her  husband — would  fall  the  heavy  burden  of 
poverty,  and  on  her  children  the  loss.  Yet  never  by  a  sin- 
gle word  of  complaint  did  she  make  her  husband  sorry  that 
he  had  obeyed  the  voice  of  conscience,  even  when  there 
was  nothing  left  in  the  house,  not  so  much  as  the  widow's 
cruse  of  oil.  Alas,  poor  mother,  once  so  free  from  care  \ 
what  sorrow  and  anxiety  wert  thou  destined  to  endure  for 
the  tender  conscience  of  thy  husband  ! 

At  the  same  time — namely,  at  the  ringing  of  the  single 
bell — there  came  from  the  manor-house,  hard  by  the  church, 
his  honor,  Sir  Christopher,  with  his  family.  The  worthy 
knight  was  then  about  fifty  years  of  age,  tall  and  handsome 
still — in  his  later  years  there  was  something  of  a  heavenly 
sweetness  in  his  face,  created,  I  doubt  not,  by  a  long  life 
of  pious  thoughts  and  worthy  deeds.  His  hair  was  streaked 
with  gray,  but  not  yet  white  ;  he  wore  a  beard  of  the  kind 
called  stiletto,  which  was  even  then  an  ancient  fashion,  and 
he  was  dressed  more  soberly  than  is  common  with  gentle- 
men of  his  rank,  having  no  feather  in  his  hat,  but  a  simple 
ribbon  round  it,  and  though  his  ruffles  were  of  lace  and  the 
kerchief  round  his  neck  was  lace,  the  color  of  his  coat  was 
plain  brown.  He  leaned  upon  a  gold-headed  cane  on  ac- 
count of  an  old  wound  (it  was  inflicted  by  a  Cavalier's  mus- 
ket-ball when  he  was  a  captain  in  the  army  of  Lord  Essex). 


10  FOR  FATTH  AXD  FREEDOM. 

The  wound  left  him  somewhat  lame,  yet  not  so  lame  bui 
that  he  could  very  Avell  walk  about  his  fields  and  could  ride 
his  horse,  and  even  hunt  with  the  otter-hounds.  By  his  side 
walked  madame,  his  wife.  After  him  came  his  son,  Hum- 
phrey, newly  married,  and  with  Humphrey  his  wife  ;  and 
last  came  his  son-in-law,  the  Rev.  Philip  Boscorel,  M,  A., 
late  fellow  of  All-Souls'  College,  Oxford,  also  newly  married, 
with  his  wife,  Sir  Christopher's  daughter,  Patience.  Mr. 
Boscorel,  like  my  father,  was  at  that  time  thirty  years  of 
age.  Like  him,  too,  his  face  was  comely  and  his  features 
fine  ;  yet  they  lacked  the  fire  and  the  earnestness  which 
marked  my  father's.  And  in  his  silken  cassock,  his  small 
white  bands,  his  lace  ruffles,  and  his  dainty  walk,  it  seemed 
as  if  Mr.  Boscorel  thought  himself  above  the  common  run 
of  mankind  and  of  superior  clay.  'Tis  sometimes  the  way 
with  scholars  and  those  who  survey  the  world  from  the 
eminence  of  a  library. 

Sir  Christopher's  face  was  full  of  concern,  because  he 
loved  the  young  man  who  was  this  day  to  throw  away  his 
livelihood  ;  and  although  he  was  ready  himself  to  worship 
after  the  manner  prescribed  by  law,  his  opinions  were  rather 
Independent  than  Episcopalian.  As  for  ]Mr.  Boscorel,  who 
was  about  to  succeed  to  the  ejected  minister,  his  face  wore 
no  look  of  triumph,  which  would  have  been  ungenerous. 
He  was  observed,  indeed,  after  he  had  silently  gone  through 
with  the  service  of  the  day  with  the  help  of  a  prayer-book, 
to  listen  diligently  unto  the  preacher. 

The  people,  I  have  already  said,  knew  already  what  was 
about  to  happen.  Perhaps  sc;/ie  of  them  (but  I  think  not) 
possessed  a  copy  of  the  old  prayer-book.  This,  they  knew, 
was  to  be  restored,  with  the  surplice,  and  the  observance  of 
holy  days,  feasts,  and  fasts,  and  the  kneeling  at  the  admin- 
istration of  the  Holy  Communion.  Our  people  are  crafts- 
men as  much  as  they  are  rustics  ;  every  week  the  master 
clothiers'  men  drive  their  pack-horses  into  the  village  laden 
with  wool,  and  return  with  yarn ;  ihey  are  not,  therefore, 
so  brutish  and  sluggish  as  most ;  yet  they  made  no  outward 
show  of  caring  whether  Prelacy  or  Independence  was  to 
have  the  sway.  Perhaps  the  abstruse  doctrines  which  my 
father  loved  to  discuss  were  too  high  for  them  ;  perhaps 
his  austerity  was  too  strict  for  them,  so  that  he  was  not  be- 
loved by  them.  Perhaps,  even,  they  would  have  cared 
little  if  they  had  heard  that  Bishop  Bonner  himself  was 
coming  back.  Religion,  to  country  folk,  means,  mostly, 
the   going   to   church   on    Sunday   morning.      That  done, 


For  faith  and  freedom.  i  t 

man's  sendee  of  prayer  and  praise  to  his  Creator  is  also 
done.  If  the  form  be  changed  the  church  remains,  and  the 
churchyard  ;  one  shepherd  followeth  another,  but  the  flock 
is  always  the  same.  Revolutions  overthrow  kings,  and 
send  great  heads  to  the  block  ;  but  the  village  heedeth  not 
unless  civil  war  pass  that  way.  To  country  folk  what  dif- 
ference }  The  sky  and  the  fields  are  unchanged.  Under 
Queen  Mary  they  are  Papists  ;  under  Queen  Elizabeth  they 
are  Protestants.  They  have  the  Prayer  Book  under  King 
James  and  King  Charles ;  under  Oliver  they  have  had  the 
Presbyterian  and  Independent ;  now  they  have  the  book  of 
Common  Prayer  and  the  surplice  again.  Yet  they  remain 
the  same  people,  and  tell  the  same  stories,  and,  so  far  as  I 
know,  believe  the  same  things — viz.,  that  Christ  Jesus  saves 
the  soul  of  every  man  who  truly  believes  in  him.  Why,  if 
it  were  not  for  his  immortal  soul — concerning  which  he 
takes  but  little  thought — the  rustic  might  be  likened  unto  the 
patient  beast  whom  he  harnesseth  to  his  plough  and  to  his 
muck-cart.  He  changeth  no  more  ;  he  works  as  hard  ;  he 
is  as  long-enduring  ;  his  eyes  and  his  thoughts  are  as  much 
bound  by  the  hedge,  the  lane,  and  the  field  ;  he  thinks  and 
invents  and  advances  no  more.  Were  it  not,  I  say,  for  the 
Church,  he  would  take  as  little  heed  of  any  thingas  his  ox 
or  his  ass;  his  village  would  become  his  country  ;  his  squire 
would  become  his  king  ;  the  nearest  village  would  become 
the  camp  of  an  enemy  ;  and  he  would  fall  into  the  condi- 
tion of  the  ancient  Briton  when  Julius  Caesar  found  every 
tribe  fighting  against  every  other. 

I  talk  as  a  fool.  For  sometimes  there  falls  upon  the  tor- 
pid soul  of  the  rustic  a  spark  which  causes  a  mighty  flame 
to  blaze  up  and  burn  fiercely  within  him.  I  have  read  how 
a  simple  monk,  called  Peter  the  Hermit,  drew  thousands  of 
poor,  illiterate,  credulous  persons  from  their  homes  and  letl 
them,  a  mob  armed  with  scythes  and  pikes,  across  Europe 
to  the  deserts  of  Asia  Minor,  where  tliey  miserably  perished. 
I  have  read  also  of  Jack  Cade,  and  how  he  drew  the  multi- 
tudes after  him,  crying  aloud  for  justice  or  death.  And  I 
myself  have  seen  these  sluggish  spirits  suddenly  fired  with 
a  spirit  which  nothing  could  subdue.  The  sleeping  soul  I 
have  seen  suddenly  starting  into  life  :  strength  and  swift- 
ness have  I  seen  suddenly  put  into  sluggish  limbs  :  light 
and  fire  have  I  seen  gleaming  suddenly  in  dull  and  heavy 
eyes.  Oh  !  it  was  a  miracle  :  but  I  have  seen  it.  Anc^ 
having  seen  it,  I  cannot  despise  these  lads  of  the  plough. 


J  3  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

these  honest  boys  of  Somerset,    nor  can  I  endure  to  heac 
them  laug-hed  at  or  contemned. 

Bradford  Orcas,  in  the  Hundred  of  Horethorne,  Somerset, 
is  a  village  so  far  from  the  great  towns  that  one  would  think 
a  minister  might  have  gone  on  praying  and  preaching  after 
his  own  fashion  without  being  discovered.  But  the  arm  of 
the  law  is  long. 

The  nearest  town  is  Sherborne,  in  Dorsetshire,  to  which 
there  is  a  bridle-path  across  the  fields  ;  it  is  the  market-town 
for  the  villages  round  it  Bradford  Orcas  is  a  very  obscure 
little  village,  with  no  history  and  no  antiquities.  It  stands 
in  the  southeastern  corner  of  the  county,  close  to  the  western 
declivity  of  the  Corton  Hills,  which  here  sweep  round  so  as 
to  form  a  valley,  in  which  the  village  is  built  along  the 
banks  of  a  stream.  The  houses  are  for  the  most  part  of 
stone,  with  thatched  roofs,  as  is  the  custom  in  our  country  ; 
the  slopes  of  the  hills  are  covered  with  trees,  and  round  the 
village  there  stand  goodly  orchards,  the  cider  from  which 
cannot  be  surpassed.  As  for  the  land,  but  little  of  it  is  ara- 
ble ;  the  greater  part  is  a  sandy  loam  or  stone  brash.  The 
church,  which  in  the  superstitious  days  was  dedicated  to 
St.  Nicolas,  is  built  upon  a  hillock,  a  rising  ground  in  the 
west  of  the  village.  This  building  of  churches  upon  hil- 
locks is  a  common  custom  in  our  parts,  and  seemeth  laud- 
able, because  a  church  should  stand  where  it  can  be  seen 
by  all  the  people,  and  by  its  presence  remind  them  of  death 
and  of  the  judgment.  This  practice  doth  obtain  at  Sher- 
borne, where  there  is  a  very  noble  church,  and  at  Huish 
Episcopi,  and  at  many  other  places  in  our  county.  Our 
church  is  fair  and  commodious,  not  too  large  for  tiie  con- 
gregation, having  in  the  west  a  stone  tower  embattled,  and 
consisting  of  a  nave  and  chancel  with  a  very  fine  roof  of 
carved  woodwork.  There  is  an  ancient  yew-tree  in  the 
churchyard,  from  which  in  old  times  bows  were  cut ;  some 
of  the  bows  yet  hang  in  the  great  hall  of  the  manor-house. 
Among  the  graves  is  an  ancient  stone  cross,  put  up  no  man 
knows  when,  standing  in  a  six-sided  slab  of  stone,  but  the 
top  was  broken  off  at  the  time  of  the  Reformation  ;  two  or 
three  tombs  are  in  the  churchyard,  and  the  rest  is  covered 
with  mounds,  beneath  which  lie  the  bones  and  dust  of 
former  generations. 

Close  to  the  churchyard,  and  at  the  northeast  corner,  is 
the  manor-house,  as  large  as  the.  church  itself,  but  not  so 
ancient  It  was  built  in  the  reign  of  Henry  VII.  A  broad 
arched  gateway  leads  into  a  c^urt,  wherein  is  the  entrance 


POk  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 


n 


to  the  house.  Over  the  gateway  is  a  kind  of  tower,  but  not 
detached  from  the  house.  In  the  wall  of  the  tower  is  a 
panel,  lozenge  shaped,  in  which  are  carved  the  arms  of  the 
Challis  family.  The  house  is  stately,  with  many  gables, 
and  in  each  casement  windows  set  in  richly  carved  stone 
tracery.  As  for  the  rooms  within  the  house,  I  will  speak  of 
them  hereafter.  At  present  I  have  the  churchyard  in  my 
mind.  There  is  no  place  upon  the  earth  which  more  I  love. 
To  stand  in  the  long  grass  among  the  graves  ;  to  gaze  upon 
the  wooded  hills  beyond,  the  orchards,  the  meadows,  the 
old  house,  the  venerable  church,  the  yew-tree ;  to  listen  to 
the  murmur  of  the  stream  below  and  the  singing  of  the  lark 
above  ;  to  feel  the  fresh  breeze  upon  my  cheek — oh  !  I  do 
this  daily.  It  makes  me  feel  young  once  more  ;  it  brings 
back  the  days  when  I  stood  here  with  the  boys,  and  when 
Sir  Christopher  would  lean  over  the  wall  and  discourse  with 
us  gravely  and  sweetly  upon  the  love  of  God  and  the  fleeting 
joys  of  earth  (which  yet,  he  said,  we  should  accept  and  be 
happy  withal  in  thankfulness),  and  the  happiness  unspeak- 
able that  awaiteth  the  Lord's  saints.  Or,  if  my  thoughts 
continue  in  the  past,  the  graveyard  brings  back  the  presence 
and  the  voice  of  Mr.  Boscorel. 

"In  such  a  spot  as  this,"  he  would  say,  speaking  softly 
and  slowly,  "the  pastorals  of  Virgil  or  Theocritus  might 
have  been  written.  Here  would  the  shepherds  hold  their 
contests.  Certainly  they  could  find  no  place,  even  in  sunny 
Sicily  or  at  Mantua  itself,  where  (save  for  three  months  in 
the  year)  the  air  is  more  delightful.  Here  they  need  not  to 
avoid  the  burning  heat  of  a  sun  which  gently  warms  but 
never  burns  ;  here  they  would  find  the  shade  of  the  grove 
pleasant  in  the  soft  summer  season.  Innocent  lambs  in- 
stead of  kids  (which  are  tasteless)  play  in  our  meadows  ; 
the  cider  which  we  drink  is,  I  take  it,  more  pleasing  to  the 
palate  than  was  their  wine  flavored  with  turpentine.  And 
our  viols,  violins,  and  spinnets  are  instruments  more  de- 
lightful than  the  oaten  pipe,  or  the  cithara  itself."  Then 
would  he  wave  his  hand,  and  quote  some  poet  in  praise  of 
a  country  life — 

"  There  13  no  man  but  may  make  his  paradise, 
And  it  is  nothing  but  his  love  and  dotage 
Upon  the  world's  foul  joys  that  keeps  Inm  out  on  'it. 
For  he  that  lives  retired  in  mind  and  spirit 
Is  still  in  Paradise." 

"But,  child,"  he  would  add,  with  a  sigh,   "one  may  not 


u 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FKEEDOM. 


always  wish  to  be  in  Paradise.  The  world's  joys  lie  else* 
where.  Only,  when  youth  is  gone — then  Paradise  is  best" 
The  service  began  after  the  manner  of  the  Independents, 
with  a  long- prayer,  during  which  the  people  sat.  JMr.  Bos- 
corel,  as  I  have  said,  went  through  his  own  service  in 
silence,  the  Book  of  Common  Prayer  in  his  hand.  After  the 
prayer,  the  minister  read  a  portion  of  Scripture,  which  he 
expounded  at  length  and  with  great  learning.  Then  the 
congregation  sang  that  Psalm  which  begins — 

"  Triumphing  songs  with  glorious  tongues 
Let's  oifer  unto  Him." 

This  done,  the  rector  ascended  the  pulpit  for  the  last  time, 
gave  out  his  text,  turned  his  hour-glass,  and  began  his 
sermon. 

He  took  for  his  text  those  verses  in  St.  Paul's  second  epistle 
to  the  Corinthians,  vi.,  3-10,  in  which  the  apostle  speaks  of 
his  own  ministry  as  if  he  were  actually  predicting  the  tribu- 
lation which  was  to  fall  upon  these  faithful  preachers  of  a 
later  time — "In  much  patience,  in  affliction,  in  necessities, 
in  distresses,  in  stripes,  in  imprisonments,  in  tumults,  in 
labor,  in  watchings,  in  fastings — "could  not  the  very  words 
be  applied  to  my  father  ? 

He  read  the  text  three  times,  so  that  everybody  might 
fully  understand  the  subject  upon  which  he  was  to  preach — 
namely,  the  faithfulness  required  of  a  minister  of  the  gospel. 
I  need  not  set  down  the  arguments  he  used  or  the  reasons 
he  gave  for  his  resolution  not  to  conform  with  the  Act  of 
Uniformity.  The  rustics  sat  patiently  listening,  with  no 
outward  sign  of  assent  or  of  sympathy.  But  their  conduct 
afterwards  proved  abundantly  to  which  side  their  minds  in- 
clined. As  for  me,  I  am  a  woman,  and  therefore  inclined 
to  obey  the  voice  of  authority,  so  that,  had  I  been  born  a 
Papist,  such  I  should  have  continued ;  and  I  am  now  a 
member  of  the  Church  of  England  because  my  husband  is 
of  that  church,  yet  not  of  the  kind  which  is  called  high. 

It  behooves  us  all  to  listen  with  respect  when  scholars 
and  Avise  men  inquire  into  the  reasons  of  things.  Yet  the 
preachings  and  ex])ositions  which  such  as  my  father  be- 
stowed upon  their  flocks  did  certainly  awaken  men's  minds 
to  consider  by  themselves  the  things  which  many  think  too 
high  for  them.  It  is  a  habit  which  may  lead  to  the  foun- 
dation of  false  and  pernicious  sects.  And  it  certainly  is  not 
good   that  men  should  preach  the  doctrines  of  the  Anabap* 


FOk  FAITH  AiVp  FREEDOM.  15 

tists,  the  Fifth  Monarchy  men,  or  the  Quakers.  Yet  it  is 
better  that  some  should  be  deceived  than  that  all  should  be 
slaves.  I  have  been  assured  by  one — I  mean  Humphrey — 
who  hath  travelled,  that  in  those  countries  where  the  priest 
taketh  upon  himself  the  religion  of  the  people,  so  that  they 
think  to  be  saved  by  attending  mass,  by  fasting,  confession, 
penance,  and  so  forth,  that  not  only  does  religion  itself  be- 
come formal,  mechanical,  and  inanimate,  but  in  the  very 
daily  concerns  and  business  of  life  men  grow  slothful  and 
lack  spirit.  Their  religion,  which  is  the  very  heat  of  the 
body,  the  sustaining  and  vital  force  of  all  man's  actions,  is 
cold  and  dead.  Therefore,  all  the  virtues  are  cold  also,  and 
with  them  the  courage  and  the  spirit  of  the  people.  Thus 
it  is  that  Italy  hath  fallen  aside  into  so  many  small  and 
divided  kingdoms.  And  for  this  reason,  Spain,  in  the  opin- 
ion of  those  who  know  her  best,  is  now  falling  rapidly  into 
decay. 

I  am  well  assured  by  those  who  can  remember  that  the 
intelligence  of  the  village-folk  greatly  increased  during  the 
period  when  they  were  encouraged  to  search  the  Scriptures 
for  themselves.  Many  taught  themselves  to  read,  others 
had  their  children  taught,  in  order  that  they  might  read  or 
hear,  daily,  portions  of  the  Scriptures.  It  is  now  thirty 
years  since  authority  resumed  the  rule  ;  the  village-folk 
have  again  become,  to  outward  seeming,  sheep  who  obey 
without  questioning.  Yet  it  is  observed  that  when  they  are 
within  reach  of  a  town — that  is  to  say,  of  a  meeting-house 
— they  willingly  flock  to  the  service  in  the  afternoon  and 
evening. 

It  was  with  the  following  brave  words  that  my  father 
concluded  his  discourse  : 

"  Seeing,  therefore,  my  brethren,  how  clear  is  the  Word 
of  God  on  these  points  ;  and  considering  that  we  must 
always  obey  God  rather  than  man  ;  and  observing  that  here 
we  plainly  see  the  finger  of  God  pointing  to  disobedience 
and  its  consequences,  I  am  constrained  to  disobey.  The 
consequence  will  be  to  me  that  I  shall  stand  in  this  place 
no  more  :  to  you,  that  you  will  have  a  stranger  in  your 
church.  I  pray  that  he  may  be  a  godly  person,  able  to 
divide  the  Word,  learned  and  acceptable. 

"  As  for  me,  I  must  go  forth,  perhaps  from  among  you 
altogether.  ^  If  persecutions  arise,  it  may  behoove  me  and 
mine  to  seek  again  that  land  beyond  the  seas  whither  my 
fathers  fled  for  the  sake  of  religious  liberty.  Whatever 
happens,  I  must  fain  preach  the  gospel.     It  is  laid  upon  m* 


tl5  Jt-'OR  FAiril  AXD  JREEDOM. 

to  preach.  If  I  am  silent,  it  will  be  as  if  death  itself  had 
fallen  upon  me.  My  brethren,  there  have  been  times— 
and  those  times  may  return — when  the  elect  have  had  to  meet, 
secretly,  on  the  sides  of  barren  hills  and  in  the  heart  of  the 
forest,  to  pray  together  and  to  hear  the  Word.  I  say  that 
these  times  may  return.  If  they  do,  you  M'ill  find  m^ 
willing,  I  hope  and  pray,  to  brave  for  you  the  worst  that 
our  enemies  can  devise.  Perhaps,  however,  this  tyranny 
may  pass  over.  Already  the  Lord  hath  achieved  one  great 
deliverance  for  this  ancient  realm.  Perhaps  another  may 
be  in  his  secret  purposes  when  we  have  been  chastened, 
as,  for  our  many  sins,  we  richly  deserve.  Whether  in 
affliction  or  in  prosperity,  let  us  always  say,  '  The  Lord's 
name  be  praised  !  ' 

"  Now,  therefore,  for  the  sand  is  running  low  and  I  may 
not  weary  the  young  and  the  impatient,  let  me  conclude. 
Farewell,  sweet  Sabbaths  !  Farewell,  the  sweet  expound- 
ing of  the  Word  !  Farewell,  sweet  pulpit !  Farewell,  sweet 
faces  of  the  souls  which  I  have  yearned  to  present  pure 
and  washed  clean  before  the  throne  !  Islj  brethren,  I  go 
about,  henceforth,  as  a  dog  which  is  muzzled  ;  another  man 
will  fill  this  pulpit  ;  our  simple  form  of  worship  is  gone  ; 
the  prayer-book  and  the  surplice  have  come  back  again. 
Pray  God  we  see  not  confession,  penance,  the  mass,  the 
inquisition,  the  enslavement  of  conscience,  the  stake,  and 
the  martyrs'  axe  !  " 

Then  he  paused  and  bowed  his  head,  and  everybody 
thought  that  he  had  finished. 

He  had  not.  He  raised  it  again,  and  threw  out  his  arms 
and  shouted  aloud,  while  his  eyes  glowed  like  fire 

''No!  I  will  not  be  silent.  I  will  not.  I  am  sent  nito 
the  world  to  preach  the  gospel.  I  have  no  other  business. 
I  must  proclaim  the  Word  as  I  hope  for  everlasting  life  : 
brethren,  we  shall  meet  again.  In  the  woods  and  on  the 
hills  we  shall  find  a  temple  ;  there  are  houses  where  two  or 
three  may  be  gathered  together,  the  Lord  himself  being  in 
their  midst  Never  doubt  that  I  am  ready,  in  season  and 
out  of  season,  whatever  be  the  law,  to  preach  the  gospel  of 
the  Lord !  " 

He  end»d,  and  straightway  descended  the  pulpit  stair,  and 
stalked  out  of  the  church,  the  people  looking  after  him  with 
awe  and  wonder.  But  Mr.  Boscorel  smiled  and  wagged  his 
head,  with  a  kind  of  pity. 


FOX  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM,  ij 


CHAPTER    IL 

OUR  HOME. 

Thus  did  my  father,  by  his  own  act  and  deed,  strip  him- 
self of  all  his  worldly  wealth.  Yet,  having  nothing-,  he 
ceased  not  to  put  his  trust  in  the  Lord,  and  continued  to  sit 
among  his  books,  never  asking  whence  came  the  food  pro- 
vided for  him.  I  think,  indeed,  so  wrapped  was  he  in 
thought,  that  he  knew  not.  As  for  procuring  his  daily  food, 
my  mother  it  was  who  found  out  the  way. 

Those  who  live  in  other  parts  of  this  kingdom  do  not  know 
what  a  busy  and  populous  country  is  that  of  Somerset. 
Apart  from  the  shipping  and  the  great  trade  with  Ireland, 
Spain,  and  the  West  Indies  carried  on  from  the  port  of 
Bristol,  we  have  our  great  manufactures  of  cloth,  in  which 
we  are  surpassed  by  no  country  in  the  world.  The  town  of 
Taunton  alone  can  boast  of  eleven  hundred  looms  always 
at  work  making  sagathies  and  Des  Roys  ;  there  are  many 
looms  at  Bristol,  where  they  make  for  the  most  part  druggets 
and  cantaloons  ;  there  they  are  in  great  numbers  at  that 
rich  and  populous  town  of  Frome  Selwood,  where  they 
manufacture  the  Spanish  medleys.  Besides  the  cloth  workers, 
we  have,  in  addition,  our  knitted-stocking  trade,  which  is 
carried  on  mostly  at  Glastonbury  and  Shepton  Mallet.  Not 
only  does  this  flourishing  trade  make  the  masters  rich  and 
prosperous  (it  is  not  uncommon  to  find  a  master  with  his 
twenty — ay,  and  his  forty — thousand  pounds),  but  it  tills  all 
the  country  with  work,  so  that  the  towns  are  frequent, 
populous,  and  full  of  everything  that  men  can  want ;  and 
the  very  villages  are  not  like  those  which  may  be  seen 
in  other  parts,  poor  and  squalid,  but  well  built  and  com- 
fortable. 

Every  cottage  has  its  spinning-wheel.  The  mother,  wheiv 
she  is  not  doing  the  work  of  the  house,  sits  at  the  wheel  ;  thf 
girls,  when  they  have  nothing  else  to  do,  are  made  to  knil 
stockings.  Every  week  the  master-clothier  sends  round  his 
men  among  the  villages,  their  pack-horses  laden  with  wool  , 
every  week  they  return,  their  y  *u:ks  laden  with  yarn,  ready 
for  the  loom. 


1 8  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

There  is  no  part  of  England  where  the  people  are  more 
prosperous  and  more  contented.  Nowhere  are  there  more 
towns,  and  all  thriving  :  nowhere  are  the  villages  better 
built  :  nor  can  one  find  anywhere  else  more  beautiful 
churches.  Because  the  people  make  good  wages  they  are 
independent  in  their  manners  ;  they  have  learned  things  sup- 
posed to  be  above  the  station  of  the  humble  ;  most  of  them 
in  the  towns,  and  many  in  the  villages,  are  able  to  read. 
This  enables  them  to  search  the  Scriptures,  and  examine 
into  doctrine  by  the  light  of  their  own  reason,  guided  by 
grace.  And  to  me,  the  daughter  of  a  Nonconforming 
preacher,  it  does  not  seem  wonderful  that  so  many  of  them 
should  have  become  stiff  and  sturdy  Nonconformists. 
This  was  seen  in  the  year  1685,  and,  again,  two  or  three 
years  later,  when  a  greater  than  Monmouth  landed  on  the 
western  shores. 

My  mother,  then,  seeing  no  hope  that  her  husband  would 
earn,  by  any  work  of  his  own,  the  daily  bread  of  the  house- 
hold, bravely  followed  the  example  of  the  women  in  the  vil- 
lage. That  is  to  say,  she  set  up  her  spinning-wheel,  and 
spent  all  the  time  that  she  could  spare  spinning  the  wool 
into  yarn  ;  while  she  taught  her  little  boy  first,  and  after- 
wards her  daughter — as  soon  as  I  was  old  enough — to 
manage  the  needles,  to  knit  stockings.  What  trade,  indeed, 
could  her  husband  follow  save  one — and  that,  by  law,  pro- 
hibited ?  He  could  not  dig;  he  could  not  make  anything ; 
he  knew  not  how  to  buy  or  sell ;  he  could  only  study, 
write,  and  preach.  Therefore,  while  he  sat  among  his 
books  in  one  room,  she  sat  over  her  wheel  in  the  other, 
working  for  the  master-clothiers  of  Frome  Selwood.  It  still 
makes  my  heart  to  swell  with  pity  and  with  love  when  1 
think  upon  my  mother,  thus  spending  herself  and  being 
spent,  working  all  day,  huckstering  with  the  rough  pack- 
horsemen  more  accustomed  to  exchange  rude  jests  with  the 
rustics  than  to  talk  with  gentle-women.  And  this  she  con- 
tinued to  do  year  after  year,  cheerful  and  contented,  so  that 
her  husband  should  never  feel  the  pinch  of  poverty.  Love 
makes  us  willing  slaves. 

My  father,  happily,  was  not  a  man  whose  mind  was 
troubled  about  food.  He  paid  no  heed  at  all  to  what  he 
ate,  provided  that  it  was  sufficient  for  his  needs  ;  he  would 
sup  his  broth  of  pork  and  turnips  and  bread,  after  thanks 
rendered,  as  if  it  were  the  finest  dish  in  the  world  ;  and  a 
piece  of  cold  bacon  with  a  hot  cabbage  would  be  a  least  for 
him.  The  cider  which  he  drank  was  brewed  by  my  mother 


1^'OR  FAITH  AND  PJiEEDOAf. 


^ 


fr(im  her  own  apples  ;  to  him  it  was  as  good  as  if  it  had 
been  Sherris  or  Rhenish.  I  say  that  he  did  not  even  know 
how  his  food  was  provided  for  him  ;  his  mind  was  at  all 
^  mes  occupied  with  subjects  so  lofty  that  he  knew  not  what 
was  done  under  his  very  eyes.  The  hand  of  God,  he  said, 
doth  still  support  his  faithful.  Doubtless  we  cannot  look 
back  upon  those  years  without  owning-  that  we  were  so 
supported.  But  my  mother  was  the  instrument ;  nay,  my 
father  sometimes  even  compared  himself  with  satisfaction 
unto  the  prophet  Elijah  whom  the  ravens  fed  in  the  Brook 
Cherith,  bringing  him  flesh  and  bread  in  the  morning,  and 
flesh  and  bread  in  the  evening.  I  suppose  my  father  thought 
that  his  bacon  and  beans  came  to  him  in  the  same  manner. 

Yet  we  should  sometimes  have  fared  but  poorly  had  it  not 
been  for  the  charity  of  our  friends.  Many  a  fat  capon,  green 
goose,  side  of  bacon,  and  young  grunter  came  to  us  from 
the  manor-house,  with  tobacco,  which  my  father  loved,  and 
wine  to  comfort  his  soul ;  yea,  and  clothes  for  us  all,  else 
had  we  gone  barefoot  and  in  rags.  In  this  way  was  many 
an  ejected  Elijah  at  that  time  nourished  and  supported. 
Fresh  meat  we  should  never  have  tasted,  any  more  than 
the  humblest  around  us,  had  it  not  been  for  our  good 
friends  at  the  manor-house.  Those  who  live  in  towns  can- 
not understand  how  frugal  and  yet  sufficient  may  be  the 
fare  of  those  who  live  in  the  country  and  have  gardens  and 
orchards.  Cider  was  our  drink,  which  we  made  ourselves  ; 
we  had  some  sweet  apple-trees,  which  gave  us  a  stock  of 
russets  and  pippins  for  winter  use;  we  had  bees  (but  we 
sold  most  of  our  honey)  ;  our  garden  grew  salads  and 
onions,  beans  and  the  like  ;  skim  milk  we  could  have  from 
the  manor-house  for  the  fetching ;  for  breakfast  we  had 
bread  and  milk,  for  dinner  bread  and  soft  cheese,  with  a 
lettuce  or  an  apple  ;  and  bread  or  bread-and-butter  for  sup- 
per. For  my  father  there  was  always  kept  a  piece  of  bacon 
or  fat  pork. 

Our  house  was  one  of  the  cottages  in  the  village ;  it  is  a 
stane  house  (often  I  sit  down  to  look  at  it,  and  to  remem- 
ber those  days  of  humility)  with  a  thick  thatch.  It  had  two 
rooms  below  and  two  garrets  above.  One  room  was  made 
into  a  study  or  library  for  my  father,  where  also  he  slept 
!ipon  a  pallet.  The  other  was  kitchen,  spinning-room,  parlor, 
all  in  one.  The  door  opened  upon  the  garden,  and  the  floor 
was  of  stone,  so  that  it  was  cold.  But  when  Barnaby  be- 
gan to  find  the  use  of  his  hands,  he  procured  some  boards, 
which  he  laid  upon  the  stones,   and  so  we  had  a  wooden 


•O  FOR  FAITir  AND  FREEDOM. 

floor  ;  and  in  winter  across  the  door  was  hung  a  curtaiu  t4 
keep  off  the  wind. 

The  walls  were  whitewashed,  and  over  all  my  mother 
had  written  texts  of  Scripture  with  charcoal,  so  that  godly 
admonition  w^as  ever  present  to  our  eyes  and  minds.  She 
also  embroidered  short  texts  upon  our  garments,  and  I  have 
still  the  cradle  in  which  I  was  laid,  carved  (but  I  do  not 
know  by  whose  hand)  with  a  verse  from  the  Word  of  God. 
My  father  used  himself,  and  would  have  us  employ,  the 
words  of  the  Bible  even  for  the  smaller  occasions  of  daily 
use  ;  nor  would  he  allow  that  anything  was  lawful  unless  it 
was  sanctioned  by  the  Bible,  holding  that  in  the  Word  was 
everything  necessary  or  lawful.  Did  Barnaby  go  shooting 
with  Sir  Christopher  and  bring  him  a  rabbit .' — Lo  !  David 
bade  the  children  of  Israel  teach  the  use  of  the  bow.  Did 
my  mother  inscruct  and  amuse  me  with  riddles  .<* — She  had 
the  warrant  of  Scripture  for  it  in  the  example  of  Samson. 
Did  she  sing  psalms  and  spiritual  songs  to  while  away  the 
time  and  make  her  w^ork  less  irksome  and  please  her  little 
daughter.? — In  the  congregation  of  Nehemiah  there  were 
two  hundred  forty  and  five  singing  men  and  singing  wo> 
men. 

My  father  read  and  expounded  the  Bible  to  us  twice  a  day 
— morning  and  evening.  Besides  the  Bible  we  had  few 
books  which  we  could  read.  As  for  my  mother,  poor  soul, 
she  had  no  time  to  read.  As  for  me,  when  I  grew  older  I 
borrowed  books  from  the  manor-house  or  Mr.  Boscorel. 
And  there  were  "  Old  IMr.  Dod's  Sayings  "  and  "Plain  Di- 
rections by  Joseph  Large"  always  on  the  shelf  beside  the 
Bible. 

Now,  while  my  father  worked  in  his  study  and  my 
brother  Barnaby  either  sat  over  his  lesson-book,  his  hands 
rammed  into  his  hair,  as  if  determined  to  lose  nothing,  not 
the  least  scrap  of  his  portion  (yet  knowing  full  well  that  on 
the  morrow  there  w^ould  not  be  a  word  left  in  his  poor  un- 
lucky noddle,  and  once  more  the  whip),  my  mother  would 
sit  at  her  wheel  earning  the  daily  bread.  And,  when  I  was 
little,  she  would  tell  me,  speaking  very  softly,  so  as  not  to 
disturb  the  wrestling  of  her  husband  with  a  knotty  argu- 
ment, all  the  things  which  you  have  heard — how  my  father 
chose  rather  poverty  than  to  worship  at  the  altar  of  Baal  ;  and 
who  two  thousand  pious  ministers,  like-minded  with  himselt, 
left  their  pulpits  and  went  out  into  the  cold  for  conscience' 
sake.  So  that  I  was  easily  led  to  think  that  there  were  no 
Christian  martyrs  and  confessors  more  excellent  and  praise- 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREFDOAf.  2  X 

worthy  than  these  ejected  ministers  (which  still  I  believe), 
Then  would  she  tell  me  further  of  how  they  fared,  and  how 
the  co'nmon  people  do  still  reverence  them.  There  was 
the  history  of  John  Norman,  of  Bridge  water  :  Joseph  Chad- 
wick,  of  Wrenford ;  Felix  Howe,  of  West  Torrington  ; 
George  Minton,  and  many  others.  She  also  instructed  me 
very  early  in  the  history  of  the  Protestant  uprising  over  the 
best  half  of  Europe,  and  showed  me  how  against  fearful 
odds,  and  after  burnings  and  tortures  unspeakable,  the  good 
people  of  Germany,  the  Netherlands,  and  Great  Britain  'A^on 
their  freedom  from  the  pope,  so  that  my  heart  glowed  with- 
in me  to  think  of  the  great  goodness  and  mercy  which  caused 
me  to  be  born  in  a  Protestant  country.  She  also  instructed 
me,  later,  m  the  wickedness  of  King  Charles,  whom  they  now 
called  a  martyr,  and  in  the  plots  of  that  king,  and  Laud 
his  archbishop,  and  how  king  and  archbishop  were  both 
overthrowii  ancl  perished  when  the  people  arose  and  would 
bear  no  more.  In  line,  my  mother  made  me,  from  the 
beginning,  a  Puritan.  As  I  remember  my  rr.other  always 
she  was  paie  of  cheek  and  thin,  her  voice  was  gentle ; 
yet  with  her  very  gentleness  she  would  make  the  blood  to 
run  quick  in  the  veins  and  the  heart  to  beat. 

How  have  I  seen  the  boys  spring  to  their  feet  when  she 
has  talked  with  them  of  the  great  civil  war  and  the  Restora- 
tion !  But  always  soft  and  gentle  ;  her  blue  eyes  never 
flashing ;  no  wrath  in  her  heart ;  but  the  truth,  which  often 
causeth  righteous  anger,  always  upon  her  tongue. 

One  day,  I  remember,  when  I  was  a  little  girl  playing  in 
the  garden,  Mr.  Boscorel  walked  down  the  village  in  his 
great  silken  gown,  which  seemed  always  new,  his  lace  ruffs, 
and  his  white  bands,  looking  like  a  bishop  at  least,  and 
Walking  delicately,  holding  up  his  gown  to  keep  it  from  the 
dust  and  mud.  When  he  spoke  it  was  in  a  mincing  speech, 
«ot  like  our  rough  Somersetshire  ways.  He  stopped  at  our 
»-ate,  and  looked  down  the  garden.  It  was  a  summer  day, 
the  doors  and  windows  of  the  cottage  were  open  ;  at  our 
ivindow  sat  my  father  bending  over  his  books,  in  his  rusty 
g'own  and  black  cap,  thin  and  lank  ;  at  the  door  sat  my 
mother  at  her  wheel. 

"Child,"  said  the  rector,  "  take  heed  thou  never  forget 
In  thine  age  the  thing  which  thou  seest  daily  in  thy  child- 
hood. " 

1  knew  not  what  he  meant. 

"  Read  and  mark,"  he  said  ;  "  yea,  learn  by  heart  what 
tjie  Wise  M^n  h^th  said  uf  the  good  woman  :  'She  layei}] 


22  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

her  hand  to  the  spindle  .   .   .   she  maketh  fine  linen  and 

selleth  it  .  .  .  she  eateth  not  the  bread  of  idleness 

Let  her  works  praise  her  in  the  gates.'  " 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE  BOYS. 


The  family  of  Challis,  of  Bradford  Orcas,  is  well  known; 
here  there  has  always  been  a  Challis  from  time  immemorial. 
They  are  said  to  have  been  on  the  land  before  the  time  of 
the  Conqueror.  But  because  they  have  never  been  a  great 
family  like  the  Mohuns  of  Dunster,  but  only  modest  gentle- 
folk with  some  four  or  five  hundred  pounds  a  year,  they 
have  not  suffered,  like  those  great  houses,  from  the  civil  wars, 
which  when  they  raged  in  the  land,  brought  in  their  train  so 
many  attainders,  sequestrations,  beheadings,  imprisonments, 
and  fines.  Whether  the  barons  fought,  or  whether  Cava- 
liers and  Koundheads,  the  Challises  remained  at  Bradford 
Orcas. 

Since  the  lands  is  theirs  and  the  village,  it  is  reasonable 
that  they  should  have  done  everything  that  has  been  done 
for  the  place.  One  of  them  built  the  church,  but  I  know 
not  when;  another  built  the  tower;  another  gave  the  peal 
of  bells.  He  who  reigned  here  in  the  time  of  Henry  VII. 
built  the  manor-house;  another  built  the  mill;  the  monu- 
ments in  the  church  are  all  put  up  to  the  memory  of  Chal- 
lises dead  and  gone;  there  is  one,  a  very  stately  tomb,  which 
figures  to  the  life  Sir  William  Challis  (who  died  in  the  time 
of  Queen  Elizabeth),  carved  in  marble,  and  colored,  kneel- 
ing at  a  desk;  opposite  to  him  is  his  second  wife,  Grace, 
also  kneeling.  Behind  the  husband  are  three  boys  on  their 
knees,  and  behind  the  wife  are  three  girls.  Apart  from  this 
group  is  the  effigy  of  Filipa,  Sir  Christopher's  first  wife,  with 
four  daughters  kneeling  behind  her.  I  was  always  sorry 
for  Filipa,  thus  separated  and  cut  off  from  the  society  of  her 
husband.  There  are  brasses  on  the  floor  with  figures  of 
other  Challises,  and  tablets  in  the  wall,  and  the  Challis  coat- 
of-arms  is  everywhere  cut  in  lozenges,  painted  in  wood, 
and  shining  in  the  east  window.  It  always  seemed  to  me, 
in  my  young  days,  that  it  was  the  grandest  thing  in  the 
world  to  be  a  Challis. 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  23 

In  this  family  there  was  a  laudable  practice  with  the 
younger  sons  that  they  stayed  not  at  home,  as  is  too  often 
their  custom,  leading-  indolent  lives  without  ambition  or 
fortune,  but  they  sallied  forth  and  sought  fortune  in  trade, 
or  in  the  law,  or  in  the  Church,  or  in  foreign  service — wher- 
ever fortune  is  to  be  honorably  won — so  that,  though  I  dare 
say  some  have  proved  dead  and  dry  branches,  others  have 
put  forth  flowers  and  fruit  abundantly,  forming  new  and 
vigorous  trees  sprung  from  the  ancient  root.  Thus,  some 
have  become  judges,  and  some  bishops,  and  some  great 
merchants  ;  some  have  crossed  the  ocean,  and  are  now  set- 
tled in  the  Plantations  ;  some  have  attained  rank  and  estates 
in  the  service  of  Austria.  Thus,  Sir.  Christopher's  brother 
Humphrey  went  to  London  and  became  a  Levant  merchant 
and  adventurer,  rising  to  great  honor  and  becoming  alder- 
man. I  doubt  not  that  he  would  have  been  made  lord  mayor 
but  for  his  untimely  death.  And  as  for  his  wealth,  which 
was  rumored  to  be  so  great — but  you  shall  hear  of  this  in 
due  time. 

That  goodly  following  of  his  household  which  you  have 
seen  enter  the  church  on  Farewell  Sunday,  was  shortly 
afterwards  broken  into  by  death.  There  fell  upon  the  vil- 
lage (I  think  it  was  in  the  year  1665)  the  scourge  of  a  putrid 
fever,  of  which  there  died,  besides  numbers  of  the  village 
folk,  madame  herself — the  honored  wife  of  Sir  Christopher 
— Humphrey  his  son,  and  Madame  Patience  Boscorel,  his 
daughter.  There  were  left  to  Sir  Christopher,  therefore, 
only  his  daughter-in-law  and  his  infant  grandson  Robin. 
And  in  that  year  his  household  was  increased  by  the  arrival 
of  his  grand-nephew  Humphrey.  This  child  was  the  grand- 
son of  Sir  Christopher's  brother,  the  Turkey  or  Levant  mer- 
chant of  whom  I  have  spoken.  He  was  rich  and  prosper- 
ous ;  his  ships  sailed  out  every  year  laden  with  I  know  not 
what,  and  returned  with  tigs,  dates,  spices,  gums,  silks,  and 
all  kinds  of  precious  commodities  from  Eastern  parts.  It  is, 
I  have  been  told,  a  profitable  trade,  but  subject  to  terrible 
dangers  from  Moorish  pirates,  who  must  be  bravely  fought 
and  beaten  off,  otherwise  ship  and  cargo  will  be  taken,  and 
captain  and  crew  driven  into  slavery.  Mr.  Challis  lived  in 
Thames  Street,  close  to  Tower  Hill.  It  is  said  that  he  lived 
here  in  great  splendor,  as  betits  a  rich  merchant  who  is  also 
an  alderman. 

Now,  in  the  year  1665,  as  is  very  well  known,  the  plague 
broke  out  in  the  City.  There  were  living  in  the  house  the 
alderman,  his  wife,  his  son,  his  son's  wife,  «  daughter,  and 


24  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

his  grandson,  little  Humphrey.  On  the  first  outbreak  of 
the  pestilence  they  took  counsel  together,  and  resolved  that 
the  child  should  be  first  sent  away  to  be  out  of  danger,  and 
that  they  would  follow  if  the  plague  spread. 

This  was  done,  and  a  sober  man,  one  of  their  porters  or 
warehousemen,  carried  the  child,  with  his  nurse,  all  the 
way  from  London  to  Bradford  Orcas.  Alas  !  Before  the 
boy  reached  his  great-uncle,  the  house  in  Thames  Street 
was  attacked  by  the  plague,  and  every  one  therein  perished. 
Thus  was  poor  little  Humphrey  deprived  of  his  parents.  I 
know  not  who  were  his  guardians  or  trustees,  or  what  steps, 
if  any,  were  taken  to  inquire  into  the  alderman's  estate  ;  but 
when,  next  year,  the  Great  Fire  of  London  destroyed  the 
house  in  Thames  Street,  with  so  many  others,  all  the  estate, 
whatever  it  had  been,  vanished,  and  could  no  more  be 
traced.  There  must  have  been  large  moneys  owing.  It  is 
certain  that  he  had  shares  in  ships.  It  has  been  supposed 
that  he  owned  many  houses  in  the  City,  but  they  were  de- 
stroyed and  their  very  sites  forgotten,  and  no  deeds  or  papers, 
or  any  proof  of  ownership,  were  left.  Moreover,  there  was 
nobody  charged  with  inquiring  into  this  orphan's  affairs. 
Therefore,  in  the  general  confusion  nothing  at  all  was  saved 
out  of  what  had  been  a  goodly  property,  and  the  child 
Humphrey  was  left  without  a  guinea  in  the  world.  Thus 
unstable  is  Fortune. 

I  know  not  whether  Humphrey  received  a  fall  in  his  in- 
fancy, or  whether  he  was  born  with  his  deformity,  but  the 
poor  lad  grew  up  with  a  crooked  figure,  one  shoulder  being 
higher  than  the  other,  and  his  legs  short,  so  that  he  looked 
as  if  his  arms  were  too  long  for  him.  We,  who  saw  him 
thus  every  day,  paid  no  heed,  nor  did  he  suffer  from  any 
of  those  cruel  gibes  and  taunts  which  are  often  passed  upon 
lads  thus  afflicted.  As  he  was  by  nature  or  misfortune 
debarred  from  the  rough  sports  which  pleased  his  cousins, 
the  boy  gave  himself  up  to  reading  and  study,  and  to  music. 
His  manner  of  speech  was  soft  and  gentle  ;  his  voice  was 
always  sweet,  and  afterwards  became  strong  as  well,  so 
that  I  have  never  heard  a  better  singer.  His  face — ah  !  my 
brother  Humphrey,  what  a  lovely  face  was  thine  !  All 
goodness,  surely,  was  stamped  upon  that  face.  Never,  never 
did  an  un-worthy  thought  defile  that  candid  soul,  or  a  bad 
action  cast  a  cloud  upon  that  brow  !  Where  art  thou  now, 
oh,  Humphrey!  brother  and  fond  companion — whither  hast 
thou  fled? 

As  for  Robin,  Sir  Christopher's  grandson,  1  think  he   was 


!■  OR  FAITH  A.\D  I-KEEDOM.  2i> 

always  what  he  is  still,  namely,  a  man  of  a  joyous  heart 
and  a  cheerful  countenance.  As  a  boy  he  laughed  con- 
tinually, would  sing  more  willingly  than  read,  would  play 
rather  than  work,  loved  to  course  and  shoot  and  ride  bettei 
than  to  learn  Latin  grammar,  and  would  readily  off  coat  and 
fight  with  any  who  invited  him.  Yet  not  a  fool  or  a  clown, 
but  always  a  gentleman  in  manners,  and  one  who  read  such 
things  as  behoove  a  country  gentleman,  and  scrupulous  as 
to  the  point  of  honor.  Such  as  he  is  still  such  he  was 
always.  And  of  a  comely  presence,  with  a  rosy  cheek  and 
bright  eyes,  and  the  strength  of  a  young  David,  as  well  as  his 
ruddy  and  goodly  countenance.  The  name  of  David  I  am 
told,  David  means  "darling."  Therefore,  ought  my  Robin  to 
have  been  named  David.  There  were  two  other  boys — Barn- 
aby,  my  brother,  who  was  six  years  older  than  myself,  and 
therefore,  always  a  great  boy  ;  and  Benjamin,  the  son  of 
the  Rev.  INIr.  Boscorel,  the  rector.  Barnaby  grew  up  so 
broad  and  strong  that  at  twelve  he  would  have  passed  easily 
for  seventeen  ;  his  square  shoulders,  deep  chest,  and  big 
limbs  made  him  like  a  bull  for  strength.  Yet  he  was 
shorter  than  most,  and  looked  shorter  than  he  was  by  rea- 
son of  his  great  breadth.  He  was  always  exercising  his 
strength  ;  he  would  toss  the  hay  with  the  haymakers,  and 
carry  the  corn  for  the  reapers,  and  thresh  with  the  flail,  and 
guide  the  plough.  He  loved  to  climb  great  trees,  and  to 
fell  them  with  an  axe.  Everybody  in  the  village  admired 
his  wonderful  strength.  Unfortunately,  he  loved  not  books, 
and  could  never  learn  anything,  so  that  when,  by  dint  of 
great  application  and  many  repetitions,  he  had  learned  a 
little  piece  of  a  Latin  verb,  he  straightway  forgot  it  in  the 
night,  and  so,  next  day,  there  was  another  flogging.  But 
that  he  heeded  little.  He  was  five  years  older  than  Robin, 
and  taught  him  all  his  woodcraft — where  to  find  pheasants' 
eggs,  how  to  catch  squirrels,  how  to  trap  weasels  and 
stoats,  how  to  hunt  the  otter,  how  to  make  a  goldfinch 
whistle  and  a  raven  talk — never  was  there  such  a  master  of 
that  wisdom  which  doth  not  advance  a  man  in  the  world. 

Now,  before  Barnaby's  birth,  his  mother,  after  the  man- 
ner of  Hannah,  gave  him  solemnly  unto  the  Lord  all  the 
days  of  his  life,  and  after  his  birth,  her  husband,  after  the 
manner  of  Elkanah,  said  "Do  what  seemeth  thee  good; 
only  the  Lord  establish  his  word."  He  was,  therefore,  ic/ 
become  a  minister,  like  his  father  before  him.  Alas  !  po*/ 
Barnaby  could  not  even  learn  the  Latin  verbs,  and  hj9 
heart,  it  was  found,  as  he  grew  older,  was  wholly  set  upon 


9^  FOR  FAITH  AA'D  FREEDOi%f. 

the  things  of  this  world.  Wherefore,  my  mother  praytei 
for  him  daily  while  she  sat  at  her  work,  that  his  heart  might 
be  turned,  and  that  he  might  get  understanding. 

As  for  the  fourth  of  the  boys,  Benjamin  Boscorel,  he  was 
about  two  years  younger  than  Barnaby,  a  boy  who,  for  want 
of  a  mother,  and  because  his  father  was  careless  of  him, 
grew  up  rough  and  coarse  in  manners  and  in  speech,  and 
boastful  of  his  powers.  To  hear  Ben  talk  you  would 
think  that  all  the  boys  of  his  school  (the  grammar-school 
of  Sherborne)  were  heroes  ;  that  the  Latin  taught  was  of  a 
quality  superior  to  that  which  Robin  and  Humphrey  learned 
of  my  father ;  and  that  when  he  himself  went  out  into  the 
world  superiority  of  his  parts  would  be  immediately  pre- 
ceived  and  acknowledged. 

Those  who  watch  boys  at  play  together — girls  more 
early  learn  to  govern  themselves  and  to  conceal  their 
thoughts,  if  not  their  tempers — may,  after  a  manner,  pre- 
dict the  future  character  of  every  one.  There  is  the  man 
who  wants  all  for  himself,  and  still  wants  more,  and  will  take 
all  and  yield  nothing,  save  on  compulsion,  and  cares  not  a 
straw  about  his  neighbor — such  was  Benjamin  as  a  boy. 
There  is  the  man  who  gives  all  generously — such  as  Robin. 
There  is,  again,  the  man  whose  mind  is  raised  above  the 
petty  cares  of  the  multitude,  and  dwells  apart,  occupied 
with  great  thoughts — such  was  Humphrey.  Lastly,  there 
is  the  man  who  can  act,  but  cannot  think,  who  is  born  to 
be  led,  who  is  full  of  courage  and  of  strength,  and  leavesall 
to  his  commander,  captain,  or  master — such  was  Barnaby. 

As  I  think  of  these  lads  it  seems  as  if  the  kind  of  man 
into  which  each  would  grow  must  have  been  stamped  upon 
their  foreheads.  Perhaps  to  the  elders  this  prognostic  was 
easy  to  read. 

They  suffered  me  to  play  with  them  or  to  watch  them  at 
play.  When  the  boys  went  off  to  the  woods  I  went  with 
ihom.  I  watched  them  set  their  traps — I  ran  when  they 
ran.  And  then,  as  now,  I  loved  Robin  and  Humphrey. 
But  I  could  not  endure — no  ;  not  even  the  touch  of  him — 
Benjamin,  with  the  loud  laugh  and  the  braggart  voice,  who 
laughed  at  me  because  I  was  a  girl  and  could  not  fight 
The  time  came  when  he  did  not  laugh  at  me  because  I  was 
a  girl.  And  oh  !  to  think — only  to  think — of  the  time  that 
came  after  that  1 


Jl^OR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 


27 


CHAPTER  IV. 

SIR  CHRISTOPHER. 

At  the  mere  remembrance  of  Sir  Christopher,  I  am  fain  to 
lay  down  my  pen  and  to  weep,  as  for  one  whose  goodness 
was  unsurpassed,  and  whose  end  was  undeserved.  Good 
works,  I  know,  are  rags,  and  men  cannot  deserve  the  mercy 
of  God  by  any  merits  of  their  own ;  but  a  good  man — a  man 
whose  heart  is  full  of  justice,  mercy,  virtue,  and  truth — is  so 
rare  a  creature,  that  when  there  is  found  such  an  one  his 
salvation  seems  assured.  Is  it  not  wonderful  that  there  are 
among  us  so  many  good  Christians,  but  so  few  good  men  1 
I  am,  indeed,  in  private  duty  bound  to  acknowledge  Sir 
Christopher's  goodness  to  me  and  to  mine.  He  was,  as  I 
have  said,  the  mainstay  of  our  household.  Had  we  de- 
pended wholly  on  my  mother's  work,  we  should  sometimes 
have  fared  miserably  indeed.  Nay,  he  did  more.  Though 
a  justice  of  the  peace,  he  invited  my  father  every  Sunday 
evening  to  the  manse-house  for  spiritual  conversation,  not 
©nly  for  his  own  profit,  but  knowing  that  to  expound  was 
to  my  father  the  breath  of  his  nostrils,  so  that  if  he  could 
not  expound  he  must  die.  In  person.  Sir  Christopher  was 
tall  ;  after  the  fashion  (which  I  love)  of  the  days  when  he 
was  a  young  man,  he  wore  his  own  hair,  which,  being  now 
white  and  long,  became  his  venerable  face  much  better  than 
any  wig — white,  black,  or  brown.  He  was  generally 
dressed,  as  became  his  station  of  simple  country  gentleman, 
in  a  plush  coat  with  silver  buttons,  and  for  the  most  part  he 
wore  boots,  being  of  an  active  habit  and  always  walking; 
about  his  fields  or  in  his  garden  among  his  flowers  and  his 
fruit-trees.  He  was  so  good  a  sportsman  that  with  his  rod, 
his  gun,  or  his  hawk  he  provided  his  table  with  everything 
except  beef,  mutton,  and  pork.  In  religion  he  inclined  to 
Independency,  being  above  all  things  an  upholder  of  private 
judgment  ;  in  politics,  he  denied  the  divine  right,  and 
openly  said  that  a  Challis  might  be  a  king  as  well  as  a 
Stuart  ;  he  abhorred  the  pope  and  all  his  works ;  and  though 
he  was  now  for  a  monarchy,  he  would  have  the  kiM;;^'s  own 
power  limited  by  the  Parlian^ent     \\\  his  manners  he  was 


28  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

grave  and  dignified  ;  not  austere,  but  one  who  loved  a 
cheerful  companion.  He  rode  once  a  week,  on  market  day, 
to  Sherborne,  where  he  dined  with  his  brother  justices,  hear- 
ing and  discussing  the  news,  though  news  comes  but  slowly 
from  London  to  these  parts — it  was  fourteen  days  after  the 
landing  of  the  king,  in  the  year  1660,  that  the  bells  of  Sher- 
borne Minster  rang  for  that  event.  Sometimes  a  copy  o{ 
the  London  Gazette  came  down  by  the  Exeter  coach,  or  some 
of  the  company  had  lately  passed  a  night  where  the  coacl: 
stopped,  and  conversed  with  travellers  from  London  and 
heard  the  news.  For  the  rest  of  the  week,  his  honor  was 
at  home.  For  the  most  part  he  sat  in  the  hall.  In  the 
middle  stands  the  great  oak  table  where  all  the  household 
sit  at  meals  together.  There  was  little  difference  between 
the  dishes  served  above  and  those  below  the  salt,  save  that 
those  above  had  each  a  glass  of  strong  ale  or  of  wine  after 
dinner  and  supper.  One  side  of  the  hall  was  hung  with 
arras  worked  with  representations  of  herbs,  beasts,  and 
birds.  On  the  other  side  was  a  great  chimney,  where  in 
the  winter  a  noble  fire  was  kept  up  all  day  long.  On  either 
side  of  it  hung  fox  skins,  otter  skins,  polecat  skins,  with 
fishing-rods,  stags'-heads,  horns,  and  other  trophies  of  the 
chase.  At  the  end  was  a  screen  covered  with  old  coats-of- 
mail,  helmets,  bucklers,  lances,  pikes,  pistols,  guns  with 
match-locks,  and  a  trophy  of  swords  arranged  in  form  of  a 
star.  Below  the  cornice  hung  a  row  of  leathern  jerkins, 
black  and  dusty,  which  had  formerly  been  worn  in  place  of 
armor  by  the  common  sort.  In  the  oriel  window  was  a 
sloping  desk,  having  on  one  side  the  Bible,  and  on  the 
other  Fox's  "Book  of  IMartyrs."  Below  was  a  shelf  with 
other  books,  such  as  Vincent  Wing's  Almanack,  King 
Charles's  "  Golden  Rules,"  "Glanville  on  Apparitions,"  the 
"Complete  Justice,"  and  the  "Book  of  Farriery."  There 
was  also  in  the  hall  a  great  sideboard,  covered  with  Turkey 
work,  pewter,  brass,  and  fine  linen.  In  the  cupboard  be 
low  was  his  honor's  plate,  reported  to  be  worth  a  grea' 
deal  of  money. 

Sir  Christopher  sat  in  a  high  chair,  curiously  carved,  with 
arms  and  a  triangular  seat.  It  had  belonged  to  the  family 
for  many  generations.  Within  reach  of  the  chair  v'as  the 
tobacco-jar,  his  pipe,  and  his  favorite  book — namely,  "The 
Gentleman's  Academic  :  or  the  Book  of  St.  Alban's,  being  a 
work  on  Hunting,  Hawking,  and  Armorie,"  by  Dame 
Juliana  Berners,  who  wrote  it  two  hundred  and  fifty  years 
ago.      Sir  Christopher  loved  especially  to   read    aloud  a 


POR  PAITH  AND  Jp-REEDOM. 


2g 


chapter  in  which  it  was  proved  that  the  distinction  between 
gentleman  and  churl  began  soon  after  the  creation,  when 
Cain  proved  himself  a  churl,  and  Seth  was  created  gentle- 
man and  esquire,  or  armiger,  by  Adam,  his  father.  This 
distinction  was  renewed  after  the  flood  by  Noah  himself,  a 
gentleman  by  lineal  descent  from  Seth.  In  the  case  of  his 
sons,  Ham  was  the  churl,  and  the  other  two  were  the  gentle- 
men. I  have  sometimes  thought  that,  according  to  this 
author,  all  of  us  who  are  descended  from  Shem  or  Japhet 
should  be  gentlemen,  in  which  case  there  would  be  110 
churl  in  Great  Britain  at  all.  But  certainly  there  are  many  ; 
so  that,  to  my  poor  thinking.  Dame  Juliana  Berners  must 
be  wrong. 

There  is,  in  addition  to  the  great  hall,  the  best  parlor.  But 
as  this  was  never  wanted,  the  door  of  it  was  never  opened 
except  at  cleaning  time.  Then,  to  be  sure,  one  saw  a  room 
furnished  very  grand,  with  chairs  in  Turkey  work,  and 
hung  round  with  family  portraits.  The  men  were  clad  in 
armor,  as  if  they  had  all  been  soldiers  or  commanders  ;  the 
women  were  mostly  dressed  as  shepherdesses,  with  crooks 
in  their  hands  and  flowing  robes.  In  the  garden  was  a  long 
bowling  green,  where  in  summer  Sir  Christopher  took  great 
pleasure  in  that  ancient  game  ;  below  the  garden  was  a 
broad  fish-pond,  made  by  damming  the  stream  ;  above  and 
below  the  pond  there  are  trout,  and  in  the  pond  are  carp  and 
jack.  A  part  of  the  garden  was  laid  out  for  flowers,  a  part 
for  the  stillroom,  and  a  part  for  fruit.  I  have  never  seen 
anywhere  a  better  ordered  garden  for  the  stillroom.  Every- 
thing grew  therein  that  the  housewife  wants  :  sweet  cicely, 
rosemary,  burnet,  sweet  basil,  chives,  dill,  clary,  angelica, 
lipwort,  tarragon,  thyme,  and  mint ;  there  were,  as  T-ord 
Bacon,  in  his  "  Essay  on  Gardens,"  would  have,  "whole 
alleys  of  them  to  have  the  pleasure  when  you  walkor  tread. " 
There  were  thick  hedges  to  keep  off  the  east  wind  in  spring, 
so  that  one  would  enjoy  the  sun  when  that  cold  wind  was 
blowing.  But  in  Somerset  that  wind  hath  not  the  bitterness 
that  it  possesses  along  the  eastern  shores  of  the  land. 

Every  morning  Sir  Christopher  sat  in  his  justice's  chair 
under  the  helmets  and  the  coats  of  armor.  Sometimes 
gypsies  would  be  brought  before  him,  charged  with  stealing 
poultry  or  poisoning  pigs;  or  a  rogue  and  vagabond  would 
stray  into  the  parish  ;  these  gentry  were  very  speedily  whip- 
ped out  of  it.  As  for  our  own  people,  there  is  nowhere  a 
more  quiet  and  orderly  village  ;  quarrels  there  are  with  the 
clothiers'  men,  who  will  still  try  to  beat  down  the  value  of 


so 


FOI!  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 


the  women's  work,  and  bickerings  sometimes  between  the 
women  themselves.  Sir  Christopher  was  judge  for  all. 
Truly  he  was  a  patriarch  like  unto  Abraham,  andafather  to 
his  people.  Never  was  sick  man  suffered  to  want  for  medi- 
cines and  succor ;  never  was  aged  man  suffered  to  lack 
food  and  fire ;  did  any  youth  show  leanings  towards  sloth, 
profligacy,  or  drunkenness,  he  was  straightway  admonished, 
and  that  right  soundly,  so  that  his  back  and  shoulders  would 
remind  him  for  many  days  of  his  sin.  By  evil-doers  Sir 
Christopher  was  feared  as  much  as  he  was  beloved  by  all 
good  men  and  true.  This  also  is  proper  to  one  in  high 
station  and  authority. 

In  the  evening  he  amused  himself  in  playing  backgam- 
mon with  the  boys,  or  chess  with  his  son-in-law,  Mr. 
Boscorel  ;  but  the  latter  with  less  pleasure,  because  he  was 
generally  defeated  in  the  game.  He  greatly  delighted  in 
the  conversation  and  society  of  that  learned  and  ingenious 
gentleman,  though  on  matters  of  religion  and  of  politics  his 
son-in-law  belonged  to  the  opposite  way  of  thinking 

I  do  not  know  why  Mr.  Boscorel  took  upon  himself  holy 
orders.  God  forbid  that  I  should  speak  ill  of  any  in  author- 
ity, and  especially  of  one  who  was  kind  and  charitable  to 
all,  and  refused  to  become  a  persecutor  of  those  who  de- 
sired freedom  of  conscience  and  of  speech.  But  if  the  chief 
duty  of  a  minister  of  the  gospel  is  to  preach,  then  was  Mr. 
Boscorel  little  better  than  a  dog  who  cannot  bark.  He  did 
not  preach ;  that  is  to  say,  he  could  not,  like  my  father, 
mount  the  pulpit,  Bible  in  hand,  and  teach,  admonish,  argue, 
and  convince  without  a  written  word.  He  read  every  Sun- 
day morning  a  brief  discourse,  which  might,  perhaps,  have 
instructed  Oxford  scholars,  but  would  not  be  understood  by 
the  common  people.  As  for  arguments  on  religion,  spiritual 
conversation,  or  personal  experience  of  grace,  he  would 
lever  suffer  such  talk  in  his  presence,  because  it  argued 
private  judgment  and  caused,  he  said,  the  growth  of  spiritual 
pride.  And  of  those  hot  Gospellers  whose  zeal  brings  them 
to  prison  and  the  pillory,  he  spoke  with  contempt.  His 
conversation,  I  must  acknowledge,  was  full  of  delight  and 
instruction,  if  the  things  which  one  learned  of  him  were  not 
vanities.  He  had  travelled  in  Italy  and  in  France,  and  he 
loved  to  talk  of  poetry,  architecture,  statuary,  medals  and 
coins,  antiquities  and  so  forth — things  harmless,  and,  per- 
haps, laudable  in  themselves,  but  for  a  preacher  of  the 
gospel,  who  ought  to  think  of  nothing  but  his  sacred  call- 
ing, they  are  surely  superfluities.     Or  he  would  talk  of  th* 


POR  j-AJTJI  A.XD  2-REEDOM.  X\ 

manners  and  customs  of  strange  countries,  and  especially 
of  the  pope.  This  person,  whom  I  have  been  taught  to  look 
upon  as  from  the  very  nature  of  his  pretensions  the  most 
wicked  of  living  men,  Mr.  Boscorel  regarded  with  as  much 
toleration  as  he  bestowed  upon  an  Independent.  Thus  he 
would  tell  us  of  London  and  the  manners  of  the  great  ;  of 
the  king,  whom  he  had  seen,  and  the  court,  seeming  to 
wink  at  things  which  one  ought  to  hold  in  abhorrence.  He 
even  told  us  of  the  playhouse,  which,  according  to  my 
father,  is  the  most  subtle  engine  ever  invented  by  the  devil 
for  the  destruction  of  souls.  Yet  Mr.  Boscorel  sighed  to 
think  that  he  could  no  longer  visit  that  place  of  amusement. 
He  loved  also  music,  and  played  movingly  upon  the  vio- 
loncello ;  and  he  could  make  pictures  with  pen,  pencil,  or 
brush.  I  have  some  of  his  pamtings  still,  especially  a 
picture  which  he  drew  of  Humphrey  playing  the  fiddle,  his 
great  eyes  looking  upward  as  if  the  music  were  drawing 
his  soul  to  heaven.  I  know  not  why  he  painted  a  halo  about 
his  face.  Mr.  Boscorel  also  loved  poetry,  and  quoted 
Shakespeare  and  Ben  Jonson  more  readily  than  the  word 
God. 

In  person  he  was  of  a  goodly  countenance,  having  clear- 
cut  features ;  a  straight  nose,  rather  long ;  soft  eyes,  and  a 
gentle  voice.  He  was  dainty  in  his  apparel,  loving  fine 
clean  linen,  and  laced  neckerchiefs,  but  was  not  a  gross 
feeder  ;  he  drank  but  little  wine,  but  would  discourse  upon 
fine  wines,  such  as  the  Tokay  of  Hungary,  Commandery 
wine  from  Cyprus,  and  the  like,  and  he  seemed  ])etter 
pleased  to  watch  the  color  of  the  wine  in  the  glass,  and  to 
breathe  its  perfume,  than  to  drink  it.  Above  all  things  he 
hated  coarse  speech  and  rude  manners.  He  spoke  of  men 
as  if  he  stood  on  an  eminence  watching  them,  and  always 
with  pity,  as  if  he  belonged  to  a  nobler  creation.  How 
ciouki  such  a  man  have  such  a  son  ? 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREELOM. 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE      RUNAWAY. 

Everybody  hath  heard,  and  old  people  still  remember,  how 
one  act  after  the  other  was  passed  for  the  suppression  of 
the  Nonconformists,  whom  the  Church  of  England  tried  to 
extirpate,  but  could  not.  Had  these  laws  been  truly  carried 
into  effect  there  would  have  been  great  suffering  among  the 
Dissenters  ;  but,  in  order  to  enforce  them,  every  man's  hand 
would  have  been  turned  against  his  neighbor,  and  this — 
thank  God  ? — is  not  possible  in  Somerset. 

For  example,  the  Act  of  Conformity  provided  not  only  for 
the  ejectment  of  Nonconforming  ministers  (which  was  duly 
carried  out),  but  also  enacted  that  none  of  them  should  take 
scholars  without  the  license  of  the  bishop.  Yet  many  of  the 
ejected  ministers  maintained  themselves  in  this  way,  openly, 
without  the  bishop's  license.  They  were  not  molested, 
though  they  might  be  threatened  by  some  hot  Episcopalian  ; 
nor  were  the  bishops  anxious  to  set  the  country  afire  by 
attempting  to  enforce  this  law.  One  must  not  take  from  an 
honest  neighbor,  whatever  an  unjust  law  may  command, 
his  only  way  of  living. 

Again,  the  act  passed  two  years  later  punished  all  per- 
sons with  fine  and  imprisonment  who  attended  conventi- 
cles. Yet  the  conventicles  continued  to  be  held  over  the 
whole  country,  because  it  was  impossible  for  the  justices  to 
fine  and  imprison  men  with  whom  they  sat  at  dinner  every 
T^arket-day.  with  whom  they  took  their  punch  and  tobacco, 
whom  they  knew  to  be  honest  and  God-fearing  folk.  Agaim, 
how  could  they  fine  and  imprison  their  own  flesh  and 
blood  .?  Why,  in  every  family  there  were  some  who  loved 
the  meeting-house  better  than  the  steeple-house.  Laws 
have  little  power  when  they  are  against  the  conscience  of 
the  people. 

Thirdly,  there  was  an  act  prohibiting  ministers  from  re- 
siding within  five  miles  of  the  village  or  town  where  they 
had  preached.  This  was  a  most  cruel  and  barbarous  act, 
because  it  sent  the  poor  ministers  away  from  the  help  of 
tbeir  friends.     Yet  how  was  it  regarded?      My  father,   for 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM,  7,^ 

his  part,  continued  to  live  at  Bradford  Orcas  without  let  oi 
Hindrance,  and  so,  no  doubt,  did  many  more. 

Again,  another  act  was  passed  giving  authority  to  justices 
of  the  peaci;  to  break  open  doors  and  to  take  in  custody  per- 
sons found  assembling  for  worship.  I  have  heard  of  dis- 
turbances at  Taunton,  where  the  magistrates  carried  things 
with  a  high  hand  ;  but  I  think  the  people  who  met  to  wor- 
ship after  their  own  fashion  were  little  disturbed.  Among 
the  Churchmen  were  some,  no  doubt,  who  remembered  the 
snubs  and  rubs  they  had  themselves  experienced,  and  the 
memory  may  have  made  them  revengeful.  All  the  persecu- 
tion, it  is  certain,  was  not  on  this  side  of  the  Church. 
There  was,  for  instance,  the  case  of  Dr.  Walter  Raleigh, 
Dean  of  Wells,  who  was  clapped  into  a  noisome  prison 
where  the  plague  had  broken  out.  He  did  not  die  of  that 
disease,  but  was  done  to  death  in  the  jail,  barbarously,  by 
one  David  Barrett,  shoemaker,  who  was  never  punished  for 
the  murder,  but  was  afterwards  made  constable  of  the  City. 
There  was  also  the  case  of  the  Rev.  Dr.  Piers,  whom  I  have 
myself  seen,  for  he  lived  to  a  good  old  age.  He  was  a  pre- 
bendary of  Wells  and,  being  driven  forth,  was  compelled  to 
turn  farmer,  and  to  work  with  his  own  hands — digging,  hoe- 
ing, ploughing,  reaping,  and  threshing — when  he  should 
have  been  in  his  study.  Every  week  this  reverend  and 
learned  doctor  of  divinity  was  to  be  seen  at  Ilminster  Mar- 
ket, standing  beside  the  pillars  with  his  cart,  among  the 
farmers  and  their  wives,  selling  his  apples,  cheese,  and 
cabbages. 

I  say  that  no  doubt  many  remembered  these  things.  Yet 
the  affection  of  the  people  went  forth  to  the  Nonconformists 
and  the  ejected  ministers,  as  was  afterwards  but  too  well 
proved.  I  have  been  speaking  of  things  which  happened 
before  my  recollection.  It  was  in  the  year  1665,  four  years 
after  the  ejection,  that  I  was  born.  My  father  named  me 
Grace  Abounding,  but  I  have  never  been  called  by  any  other 
name  than  my  first.  1  was  thus  six  years  younger  than  my 
brother  Barnaby,  and  two  years  younger  than  Robin  and 
Humphrey. 

The  first  thing  that  I  can  recollect  is  a  kind  of  picture, 
preserved,  so  to  speak,  in  my  head.  At  the  open  door  is  a 
woman  spinning  at  the  wheel.  She  is  a  woman  with  a  pale, 
grave  face  ;  she  v/orks  diligently,  and  for  the  most  part  in 
silence  ;  if  she  speaks,  it  is  to  encourage  or  to  admonish  a 
little  girl  who  plays  in  the  garden  outside.  Her  lips  move 
as  she  works,  because  she  communes  with  her  thoutj;hts  all 


34 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 


day  long-.  From  time  to  time  she  turns  her  head  and  looks 
with  anxiety  into  the  other  room,  where  sits  her  husband 
at  his  table. 

Before  him  stand  three  boys.  They  are  Barnaby,  Robin, 
and  Humphrey.  They  are  learning-  Latin.  The  room  is 
piled  with  books  on  shelves  and  books  on  the  floor.  In  the 
corner  is  a  pallet,  which  is  the  master's  bed  by  night  I  hear 
the  voices  of  the  boys  who  repeat  their  lessons,  and  the 
admonishing  of  their  master.  I  can  see  through  the  open 
door  the  boys  themselves.  One,  a  stout  and  broad  lad,  is 
my  brother  Barnaby  ;  he  hangs  his  head  and  forgets  his  les- 
son, and  causes  his  father  to  punish  him  every  day.  He 
recei*.  es  admonition  with  patience,  yet  profiteth  nothing. 
The  next  is  Humphrey  ;  he  is  already  a  lad  of  grave  and 
modest  carriage,  who  loves  his  books  and  learns  diligently. 
The  third  is  Robin,  whose  parts  are  good,  were  his  applica- 
tion equal  to  his  intelligence.  He  is  impatient,  and  longs 
for  the  time  when  he  may  close  his  book  and  go  to  play 
again. 

Poor  Barnaby  !  at  the  sight  of  a  Latin  grammar  he  would 
feel  sick.  He  would  willingly  have  taken  a  flogging  every 
day — to  be  sure,  that  generally  happened  to  him — in  order 
to  escape  his  lessons  and  be  off  to  the  fields  and  woods. 

It  was  the  sight  of  his  rueful  face — yet  never  sad  except 
at  lessons — which  made  my  mother  sigh  when  she  saw  him 
dull  but  patient  over  his  book.  Had  he  stayed  at  home  I 
know  not  what  could  have  been  done  with  him,  seeing  that 
to  become  a  preacher  of  the  gospel  was  beyond  even  the 
power  of  prayer  (the  Lord  having  clearly  expressed  his  will 
in  this  matter).  He  would  have  had  to  clap  on  a  leathern 
apron,  and  become  a  wheelwright  or  blacksmith  ;  nothing 
better  than  an  honest  trade  was  possible  for  him. 

But  (whether  happily  or  not)  a  strange  whim  seized  the 
boy  when  he  was  fpurteen  years  of  age.  He  would  go  tc 
sea.  How  he  came  to  think  of  the  sea  I  know  not  ;  he 
had  never  seen  the  sea  ;  there  were  no  sailors  in  the  vil- 
lag-e  ;  there  was  no  talk  of  the  sea.  Perhaps  Humphrey, 
wno  read  many  books,  told  him  of  the  great  doings  of  our 
sailors  on  the  Spanish  main  and  elsewhere.  Perhaps  some 
of  the  clothiers'  men,  who  are  a  roving  and  unsettled  crew, 
had  been  sailors  ;  some,  I  know,  bad  been  soldiers  under 
Oliver.  However,  this  matters  not,  Barnaby  must  needs 
become  a  sailor. 

When  first  he  broke  this  resolution,  which  he  did  secretly, 
to  fiis  mother,  she  began  to  weep   and  lament,  because 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  35 

everybody  knows  how  dreadful  is  the  life  of  a  sailor,  and 
how  full  of  dangers.  She  begged  him  to  put  the  thought 
out  of  his  head,  and  to  apply  himself  again  to  his  books. 

"  Mother,"  he  said,  "it  is  no  use.  What  comes  in  at  one 
ear  goes  out  at  the  other.  Nothing  sticks  ;  I  shall  never  be 
a  scholar." 

"  Then,  my  son,  learn  an  honest  trade." 

"  What  1  Become  the  village  cobbler — or  the  black- 
smith ?  Go  hat  in  hand  to  his  honor,  when  my  father  should 
have  been  a  bishop,  and  my  mother  is  a  gentlewoman  } 
That  will  I  not.  I  will  go  and  be  a  sailor.  All  sailors  are 
gentlemen.  1  shall  rise,  and  become  first  mate,  and  then 
second  captain,  and  lastly,  captain  in  command.  Who 
knows  ?     I  may  go  and  tight  the  Spaniard,  if  I  am  lucky." 

"  Oh,  my  son,  canst  thou  not  stay  at  home  and  go  to 
church,  and  consider  the  condition  of  thine  immortal  soul  ? 
Of  sailors  it  is  well  known  that  their  language  is  made  up 
of  profane  oaths,  and  that  they  are  all  profligates  and  drunk- 
ards. Consider,  my  son  " — my  mother  laid  her  hand  upon 
his  arm — "what  were  heaven  to  me,  if  I  have  not  my  dear 
children  with  me  as  well  as  my  husband  .?  How  could  I 
praise  the  Lord  if  I  were  thinking  of  my  son  who  was  not 
with  me  .?  but — ah  !  Heaven  forbid  the  thought  !  " 

Barnaby  made  no  reply.  What  could  he  say  in  answer 
to  my  mother's  tears  .-*  Yet  I  think  she  must  have  under- 
stood very  well  that  her  son,  having  got  this  resolution  in- 
to Ms  head,  would  never  give  it  up. 

"  Oh  !  "  she  said,  "  when  thou  wast  a  little  baby  in  my 
arms,  Barnaby — who  are  now  so  big  and  strong " — she 
looked  at  him  with  the  wonder  and  admiration  that  women 
feel  when  their  sons  grow  big  and  stout — "I  prayed  that 
God  would  accept  thee  as  an  offering  for  his  service.  Thou 
art  vowed  unto  the  Lord,  my  son,  as  much  as  Samuel.  Do 
you  think  he  complained  of  his  lessons  ?  What  would  have 
happened,  think  you,  to  Samuel,  if  he  had  taken  off  his 
ephod  and  declared  that  he  would  serve  no  longer  at  the 
altar,  but  must  take  spear  and  shield,  and  go  to  fight  the 
Amalekite  .''  " 

Said  Barnaby,  in  reply,  speaking  from  an  unregenerate 
heart,  "  Mother,  had  I  been  Samuel,  to  wear  an  cphod  and 
to  learn  the  Latin  syntax  every  day,  I  should  have  done 
that.  Ay  !  I  would  have  done  it,  even  if  I  knew  that  at 
the  first  skirmish  an  arrow  would  pierce  my  heart." 

It  was  after  a  great  flogging,  on  account  of  the  passive 
voice  or  some    wrestling   with   the  syntax    that   Barnaby 


^6  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM 

plucked  up  courage  to  tell  his  father  what  he  wished  to  da 

"  With  my  consent,"  said  my  father,  sternly,  "thou  shalt 
never  become  a  sailor.  As  soon  would  I  send  thee  to  be- 
come a  buffoon  in  a  playhouse.  Never  dare  to  speak  of  it 
again. " 

Barnaby  hung  his  head  and  said  nothing. 

Then  my  mother,  who  knew  his  obstinate  disposition, 
took  him  to  Sir  Christopher,  who  chid  him  roundly,  telling 
him  that  there  was  work  for  him  on  land,  else  he  would 
liave  been  born  beside  the  coast,  where  the  lads  take  nat- 
urally to  the  sea  ;  that  being,  as  he  was,  only  an  ignorant 
hoy,  and  landborn,  he  could  not  know  the  dangers  which 
he  would  encounter  ;  that  some  ships  are  cast  away  on 
desert  islands,  where  the  survivors  remain  in  misery  until 
they  died,  and  some  on  lands  where  savages  devour  them, 
and  some  are  dragged  down  by  calamries  and  other  dread- 
ful monsters,  and  some  are  burned  at  sea,  their  crews  having 
to  choose  miserably  between  burning  and  drowning,  and 
some  are  taken  by  the  enemy,  and  the  sailors  clapped  into 
dungeons  and  tortured  by  the  accursed  Inquisition. 

Many  more  things  did  Sir  Christopher  set  forth,  showing 
the  miserable  life  and  the  wretched  end  of  the  sailor.  But 
Barnaby  never  changed  countenance  ;  and  though  my 
mother  bade  him  note  this  and  mark  that,  and  take  heed 
unto  his  honor's  words,  his  face  showed  no  melting.  'Twas 
always  an  obstinate  lad ;  nay,  it  was  his  obstinacy  alone 
which  kept  him  from  his  learning.  Otherwise,  he  might 
perhaps  have  become  as  great  a  scholar  as  Humphrey. 

"Sir,"  he  said,  when  Sir  Christopher  had  no  other  word  to 
say,  "  with  submission,  I  would  still  choose  to  be  a  sailor, 
if  I  could." 

In  the  end  he  obtained  his  wish.  That  is  to  say,  since 
no  one  would  help  him  towards  it,  he  helped  himself.  And 
this,  I  think,  is  the  only  way  in  which  men  do  ever  get  what 
they  want 

It  happened  one  evening  that  there  passed  through  the 
village  a  man  with  a  pipe  and  tabor,  on  which  he  played 
so  movingly  that  all  the  people  turned  out  to  listen.  For 
my  own  part  I  was  with  my  mother,  yet  I  ran  to  the  garden- 
gate  and  leaned  my  head  over,  drawn  by  the  sound  of  the 
music.  Presently  the  boys  and  girls  began  to  take  hands 
and  to  dance.  I  dare  not  say  that  to  dance  is  sinful,  because 
David  danced.  But  it  was  so  regarded  by  my  father,  so 
that  when  he  passed  by  them,  on  his  way  home  from  taking 
the  »Af,  and  actually  saw  his  own  son  Barnaby  in  the  middle 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  37 

of  the  dancers,  footing  it  with  them  all,  leading  one  girl  up 
and  the  other  down  at  "John  come  and  kiss  me  now,"  he 
was  seized  with  a  mighty  wrath,  and,  catching  his  son 
sharply  by  the  ear,  led  him  out  of  the  throng  and  so  home. 
For  that  evening  Barnaby  went  supperless  to  bed,  with  the 
promise  of  such  a  flogging  in  the  morning  as  would  cause 
him  to  remember  for  the  rest  of  his  life  the  sinfulness  of 
dancing.  Never  had  I  seen  my  father  so  angry.  I  trembled 
before  his  wrathful  eyes.  But  Barnaby  faced  him  with 
steady  looks,  making  answer  none,  yet  not  showing  the 
least  repentance  or  fear.  I  thought  it  was  because  a  flog- 
ging had  no  terrors  for  him.  The  event  proved  that  I  was 
wrong,  for  when  we  awoke  in  the  morning  he  was  gone. 
He  had  crept  down-stairs  in  the  night ;  he  had  taken  half  a 
loaf  of  bread  and  a  great  cantle  of  soft  cheese,  and  had 
gone  away.  I  knew  for  my  part,  very  well,  that  he  had  not 
gone  for  fear  of  the  rod  ;  he  had  run  away  with  design  to 
go  to  sea.  Perhaps  he  had  gone  to  Bristol  ;  perhaps  to 
Plymouth  ;  perhaps  to  Lyme.  My  mother  wept,  and  my 
father  sighed ;  and  for  ten  years  more  we  neither  saw  nor 
heard  anything  of  Barnaby,  not  even  whether  he  was  dead 
or  living. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

BENJAMIN,   LORD  CHANCELLOR. 

Summer  follows  winter,  and  winter  summer,  in  due  course, 
turning  children  into  young  men  and  maidens,  changing 
school  into  work,  and  play  into  love,  and  love  into  marriage, 
and  so  onwards  to  the  churchyard,  where  we  all  presently 
lie,  hopeful  of  heaven's  mercy,  whether  Mr.  Boscorel  did 
stand  beside  our  open  grave  in  his  white  surplice,  or  my 
father  in  his  black  gown. 

Barnaby  was  gone  ;  the  other  three  grew  tall,  and  would 
still  be  talking  of  the  lives  before  them.  Girls  do  never  look 
forward  to  the  future  with  the  eagerness  and  joy  of  boys. 
To  the  dullest  boy  it  seems  a  fine  thing  to  be  master  of  his 
own  actions,  even  if  that  liberty  lead  to  whipping-post, 
pillory,  or  gallows.  To  boys  of  ambition  and  imagination 
the  ^ifts  of  Fortune   show   like  the  splendid  visions  of  ^ 


38  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

prophet  They  think  that  earthly  fame  will  satisfy  the 
soul.  Perhaps  women  see  these  glories  and  their  true  worth 
with  clearer  eye,  as  not  desiring  them.  And  truly  it  seems 
a  small  thing,  after  a  life  spent  in  arduous  toil,  and  with 
one  foot  already  in  the  grave,  to  obtain  fortune,  rank,  or 
title. 

Benjamin  and  Humphrey  were  lads  of  ambition.  To 
them,  but  in  fields  which  lay  far  apart,  the  best  life  seemed 
to  be  that  which  is  spent  among  men  on  the  ant-hill  where 
all  are  driving  and  being  driven,  loading  each  other  with 
burdens  intolerable,  or  with  wealth  or  with  honors,  and 
then  dying  and  being  forgotten  in  a  moment — which  we  call 
London.  In  the  kindly  country  one  stands  apart  and  sees 
the  vanity  of  human  wishes.  Yet  the  ambition  of  Hum- 
phrey, it  must  be  confessed,  was  noble,  because  it  was  not 
for  his  own  advancement,  but  for  the  good  of  mankind. 

"I  shall  stay  at  home,"  said  Robin.  '-'You  two  may  go 
if  you  please.  Perhaps  you  v.'ill  like  the  noise  of  London, 
where  a  man  cannot  hear  himself  speak,  they  say,  for  the 
roaring  of  the  crowd,  the  ringing  of  the  bells,  and  the  rum- 
bling of  the  carts.  As  for  me,  what  is  good  enough  for  my 
grandfather  will  be  surely  good  enough  for  me." 

It  should,  indeed,  be  good  enough  for  anybody  to  spend 
his  days  after  the  manner  of  Sir  Christopher,  administering 
justice  for  the  villagers,  with  the  weekly  ordinary  at  Sher- 
borne for  company,  the  green  fields  and  his  garden  for 
pleasure  and  for  exercise,  and  the  welfare  of  his  soul  for 
prayer.  Robin,  besides,  loved  to  go  forth  with  hawk  and 
gun ;  to  snare  the  wild  creatures  ;  to  hunt  the  otter  and  the 
fox ;  to  bait  the  badger,  and  trap  the  stoat  and  weasel ;  to 
course  the  hares.  But  cities  and  crowds,  even  if  they 
should  be  shouting  in  his  honor,  did  never  draw  him,  even 
after  he  had  seen  them.  Nor  was  he  ever  tempted  to  believe 
any  ma):iner  of  life  more  full  of  delight  and  more  consistent 
with  the  end  of  man's  creation  than  the  rural  life,  the  air  of 
the  fields,  the  following  of  the  plough  for  the  men,  and  the 
spinning-wheel  for  the  women. 

"  I  shall  be  a  lawyer,"  said  Benjamin,  puffing  out  his 
cheeks  and  squaring  his  shoulders.  "Very  well,  then,  I 
shall  be  a  great  lawyer.  What  ?  None  of  your  pettifog- 
ging tribe  for  me  :  I  shall  step  to  the  front,  and  stay  there. 
What?  Some  one  must  have  the  prizes  and  the  promotion. 
There  are  always  places  falling  vacant  and  honors  to  be 
g-iver*  away  :  they  shall  be  given  to  me.  ^^  hy  not  to  me 
as  well  as  another  ?  " 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  3^ 

"Well,"  said  Robin,  "you  are  strong  enough  to  take 
them,   willy-nilly." 

"  I  am  strong  enough,"  he  replied,  with  conviction. 
"  First,  I  shall  be  called  to  the  outer  bar,  where  I  shall  plead 
in  stuff — I  saw  them  at  Exeter  last  'sizes.  Next,  I  shall  be 
summoned  to  become  king's  counsel,  when  I  shall  flaunt  it 
in  silk.  Who  but  1 1  "  Then  he  seemed  to  grow  actually 
three  inches  taller,  so  great  is  the  power  of  imagination. 
He  M''as  already  six  feet  in  height,  his  shoulders  broad,  and 
his  face  red  and  tiery,  so  that  now  he  looked  very  big  and 
tall.  "  Then  my  inn  will  make  me  a  bencher,  and  I  shall 
sit  at  the  high  table  in  term-time.  And  the  attorneys  shall 
run  after  me  and  fight  with  each  other  for  my  services  in 
court,  so  that  in  every  great  case  I  shall  be  heard  thunder- 
ing before  the  jury,  and  making  the  witnesses  perjure  them- 
selves with  terror — for  which  they  will  be  afterwards  flogged. 
I  shall  belong  to. the  king's  party — none  of  your  canting 
Whigs  for  me.  When  the  high-treason  cases  come  on,  I 
shall  be  the  counsel  for  the  crown.  That  is  the  high-road 
to  advancement. " 

"This  is  very  well,  so  far,"  said  Robin,  laughing.  "Ben 
is  too  modest,  however.      He  does  not  get  on  fast  enough." 

"  All  in  good  time,"  Ben  replied.  "  I  mean  to  get  on  as 
fast  as  anybody.  But  I  shall  follow  the  beaten  road.  First 
favor  with  attorneys  and  those  who  have  suits  in  the  courts  ; 
then  the  ear  of  the  judge.  I  know  not  how  one  gets  the  ear 
of  the  judge — "  he  looked  despondent  for  a  moment,  then 
he  held  up  his  head  again — "Ijut  I  shall  find  out.  Others 
have  found  out — why  not  I  'i  What }    I  am  no  fool,  am  1  ?  " 

"  Certainly  not,  Ben.  But  as  yet  we  stick  at  king's 
counsel." 

"  After  the  car  of  the  judge,  the  favor  of  the  crown.  What 
do  I  care  who  is  king  ?  It  is  the  king  who  hath  preferment 
and  place  and  honors  in  his  gift.  Where  these  are  given 
away,  there  shall  I  be  found.  Next  am  I  made  sergeant-at- 
'aw.  Then  I  am  saluted  as  'brother'  by  the  judges  on  the 
bench,  while  all  the  others  burst  with  envy.  After  that  I 
shall  myself  be  called  to  the  bench.  I  am  already  '  my  lord 
— '  why  do  you  laugh,  Robin.? — and  a  knight  :  Sir  Benjamin 
Boscorel — Sir  Benjamin."  Here  he  puffed  out  his  checks 
again  and  swung  his  shoulders  like  a  very  great  person 
indeed. 

"  Proceed,  Sir  Benjamin,"  said  Humphrey,  gravely,  while 
Robin  laughed. 

•*  When  I  am  a  judge  J  promise  ;{ou  I  will  rate  the  bar- 


40 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 


risters  and  storm  at  the  witnesses  and  admonish  the  jury  uiv 
til  there  shall  be  no  other  question  in  their  minds  but  to  find 
out  first  what  is  my  will  in  the  case,  and  then  to  govern 
themselves  accordingly.  I  will  be  myself  judge  and  jury 
and  all.  Oh  !  I  have  seen  the  judge  at  last  Exeter  'sizes. 
He  made  all  to  shake  in  their  shoes.  I  shall  not  stop  there. 
Chief  baron  I  shall  be,  perhaps — but  on  that  point  I  have 
not  yet  made  up  my  mind — and  then  lord  chancellor."  He 
paused  to  take  breath,  and  looked  around  him,  grandeur 
and  authority  upon  his  brow.  "Lord  chancellor,"  he  re- 
peated, "on  the  woolsack  !  " 

"You  will  then,"  said  Robin,  "be  raised  to  the  peerage 
— first  Lord  Boscorel  ;  or  perhaps,  if  your  lordship  will  so 
honor  this  poor  village,  Lord  Bradford  Orcas — " 

"  Earl  of  Sherborne  I  have  chosen  for  title, "  said  Benja- 
min. "And  while  I  am  climbing  up  the  ladder,  where 
wilt  thou  be,  Humphrey  }  Grovelling  in  the  mud  with  the 
poor  devils  who  cannot  rise  }  " 

"Nay,  I  shall  have  a  small  ladder  of  my  own,  Ben.  I 
find  great  corrifort  in  the  thought  that  when  your  lordship 
is  roaring  and  bawling  with  the  gout — your  noble  toe  being 
like  a  ball  of  fire  and  your  illustrious  foot  swathed  in  flannel 
— I  shall  be  called  upon  to  drive  away  the  pain,  and  you 
will  honor  me  with  the  title  not  only  of  humble  cousin,  but 
also  of  rescuer  and  preserver.  Will  it  not  be  honor  enough 
to  cure  the  Right  Honorable  the  Earl  of  Sherborne 
(first  of  the  name),  the  lord  chancellor,  of  his  gout  and  to 
restore  him  to  the  duties  of  his  great  office,  so  that  once 
more  he  shall  be  the  dread  of  evil-doers  and  of  all  who  have 
to  appear  before  him  ?  As  yet,  my  lord,  your  extremities, 
I  perceive,  are  free  from  that  disease — the  result,  too  often, 
of  that  excess  in  wine  which  besets  the  great." 

Here  Robin  laughed  again,  and  so  did  Benjamin.  No- 
body could  use  finer  language  than  Humphrey,  if  he 
pleased. 

"A  fine  ambition  I  "  said  Ben.  "To  wear  a  black  velvet 
coat  and  a  great  wig ;  to  carry  a  gold-headed  cane  ;  all  day 
long  to  listen  while  the  patient  tells  of  his  gripes  and  pains  ; 
to  mix  boluses  and  to  compound  nauseous  draughts  ! 

"  Well,"  Humphrey  laughed,"  if  you  are  lord  chancellor, 
Ben,  you  will,  I  hope,  give  us  good  laws,  and  so  make  the 
nation  happy  and  prosperous.  While  you  are  doing  this.  I 
will  be  keeping  you  in  health  for  the  good  of  the  country. 
I  say  that  this  is  a  fine  ambition." 

"An4  Robin,  here,  will  sit  in  the  great  chair,  and  have 


tOk  I-'A/TH  AA^D  freedom.  4 1 

he  rogues  haled  before  him,  and  order  the  head-borough  to 
bring  out  his  cat-o'-nine-tails.  In  the  winter  evenings  he 
will  play  backgammon,  and  in  the  summer  bowls.  Then 
a  posset,  and  to  bed.  And  never  any  change  from  year  to 
year.     A  fine  life,  truly  ?  " 

"Truly,  I  think  it  is  a  very  fine  life,"  said  Robin  ;  "while 
you  make  the  laws,  I  will  take  care  that  they  are  obeyed. 
What  better  service  is  there  than  to  cause  good  laws  to  be 
obeyed?  Make  good  laws,  my  lord  chancellor,  and  be 
t!iankful  that  you  will  have  faithful,  law-abiding  men  to 
carry  them  out." 

Thus  they  talked.  Presently  the  time  came  when  the 
l:i(ls  must  leave  the  village  and  go  forth  to  prepare  for  such 
course  as  should  be  allotted  to  them,  whether  it  led  to  great- 
ness or  to  obscurity. 

Benjamin  went  first,  being  sixteen  years  of  age  and  a 
{;reat  fellow  as  I  have  said,  broad-shouldered  and  lusty,  with 
a  red  face,  a  strong  voice  and  a  loud  laugh.  In  no  respect 
(lid  he  resemble  his  father,  who  was  delicate  in  manner  and 
in  speech.  He  was  to  be  entered  at  Gray's  Inn,  where,  under 
some  counsel  learned  in  the  law,  he  was  to  read  until  such 
lime  as  he  should  be  called. 

He  came  to  bid  me  farewell,  which  at  first,  until  he 
frightened  me  with  the  things  he  said,  I  took  kindly  of 
him. 

"Child,"  he  said,  "I  am  going  to  London,  and,  I  sup' 
pose,  I  shall  not  come  back  to  this  village  for  a  long  time, 
Nay,  were  it  not  for  thee,  I  should  not  wish  to  come  back 
at  all." 

"  Why  for  me,  Ben  ?  " 

"Because — "  here  his  red  face  became  redder,  and  he 
stammered  a  little  ;  but  not  much,  for  he  was  ever  a  lad  of 
confidence — "because,  child,  thou  art  notyet  turned  twelve 
which  is  young  to  be  hearing  of  such  a  thing.  Yet  a  body 
may  as  well  make  things  safe.  And  as  for  Humphrey  or 
Robin  interfenng,  I  will  break  their  heads  with  my  cudgel 
if  they  do.  Remember  that,  then."  He  shook  his  finger  at 
me,  threatening. 

"  In  what  business  should  they  interfere  .-'  "  I  asked. 

"Kiss  me,  Grace" — here  he  tried  to  lay  his  arm  round 
my  neck,  but  I  ran  away.  "Oh!  if  thou  art  skittish,  I 
care  not  :  all  in  good  time.  Very  well,  then  ;  let  us  make 
things  safe.  Grace,  when  I  am  come  back  thou  wilt  be 
seventeen  or  eighteen,  which  is  an  age  when  girls  should 
marry — " 


42 


FOk  FATTir  AMD  FREEDOM. 


"  I  will  have  nothing  to  do  with  marrying,  Ben.'' 

"Not  yet.  If  I  mistake  not,  child,  thou  wilt  then  be  as 
beautiful  as  a  rose  in  June." 

"  I  want  no  foolish  talk,  Ben.      Let  me  go." 

"Then  I  shall  be  twenty-one  years  of  age,  practising  in 
the  courts.  I  shall  go  the  Western  Circuit,  in  order  to  see 
thee  often — partly  to  keep  an  eye  upon  thee  and  partly  to 
warn  off  other  men.  Because,  child,  it  is  my  purpose  to 
marry  thee  myself.     Think  upon  that,  now." 

At  this  I  laughed. 

"Laugh  if  you  please,  my  dear  ;  I  shall  marry  thee  as 
soon  as  the  way  is  open  to  the  bench  and  the  Avoolsack. 
What.'*  I  can  see  a  long  way  ahead.  I  will  tell  thee  what 
I  see.  There  is  a  monstrous  great  crowd  of  people  in  the 
street  staring  at  a  glass  coach.  '  Who  is  the  lovely  lady  .? ' 
they  ask.  '  The  lovely  lady  ' — that  is  you,  Grace  ;  none 
other — '  with  the  diamonds  at  her  neck  and  the  gold  chain, 
in  the  glass  coach  ? '  says  one  who  knows  her  liveries  ; 
"  'tis  the  lady  of  the  great  lord  chancellor,  the  Earl  of  Sher- 
borne.'  And  the  women  fall  green  with  envy  of  her  hap- 
piness and  great  good-fortune  and  her  splendor.  Courage, 
child  ;  I  go  to  prepare  the  way.  Oh  !  thou  knowest  not 
the  grand  things  that  I  shall  pour  into  thy  lap  when  I  am  a 
judge." 

This  was  the  first  time  that  any  man  spoke  to  me  of  love. 
But  Benjamin  was  always  masterful,  and  had  no  respect  for 
such  a  nice  point  as  the  wooing  of  a  maiden — which,  me- 
thinks,  should  be  gentle  and  respectful,  not  as  if  a  woman 
was  like  a  savage  to  be  tempted  by  a  string  of  beads,  or  so 
foolish  as  to  desire  with  her  husband  such  gauds  as 
diamonds,  or  gold  chains,  or  a  glass  coach.  Nor  doth  a 
woman  like  to  be  treated  as  if  she  was  to  be  carried  off  by 
force  like  the  Sabine  women  of  old. 

The  rector  rode  to  London  with  his  son.  It  is  a  long 
journey,  over  rough  ways  ;  but  it  pleased  him  once  more 
to  see  that  great  city,  where  there  are  pictures  and  statues 
and  books  to  gladden  the  hearts  of  such  as  love  these  things. 
And  on  the  way  home  he  sojourned  for  a  few  days  at  his 
old  college  of  All-Souls,  where  were  still  left  one  or  two  of 
his  old  friends.  Then  he  rode  back  to  his  village.  "  There 
are  but  two  places  in  this  country,"  he  said,  "  or  perhaps 
three,  at  most,  where  a  gentleman  and  a  scholar,  or  one 
who  loveth  the  fine  arts,  would  choose  to  live.  They  are 
London  and  Oxford,  and  perhaps  the  sister  university  upon 
the  Granta.     Well,  I   have  once  more  been  privileged  tc 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 


43 


•vitness  the  humors  of  the  court  and  the  town  ;  I  have  once 
more  been  permitted  to  sniff  the  air  of  a  great  library.  Let 
us  be  thankful. "  He  showed  his  thankfulness  with  a  sigh 
which  was  almost  a  groan. 

It  was  three  years  before  we  saw  Benjamin  again.  Then 
he  returned,  but  not  for  long.  Like  his  father,  he  loved 
London  better  than  the  country,  but  for  other  reasons. 
Certainly,  he  cared  nothing  for  those  arts  which  so  much 
delighted  the  rector,  and  the  air  of  a  coffee-house  pleased 
him  more  than  the  perfume  of  books  in  a  library.  When 
he  left  us  he  was  a  rustic  ;  when  he  came  back  he  was 
already  what  they  call  a  fopling  :  that  is  to  say,  when  he 
went  to  pay  his  respects  to  Sir  Christopher,  his  grandfather, 
he  wore  a  very  fine  cravat  of  Flanders  lace,  with  silken 
hos-  ;  and  lace  and  ribbons  at  his  wrist.  He  was  also  scented 
with  bergamot,  and  wore  a  peruke,  which,  while  he  talked, 
he  combed  and  curled,  to  keep  the  curls  of  this  monstrous 
head-dress  in  place.  Gentlemen  must,  I  '-uppose,  wear 
this  invention,  and  one  of  the  learned  professions  must 
show  the  extent  of  the  learning  by  the  splendors  of  his  full- 
bottomed  wig.  Yet  I  think  that  a  young  man  looks  most 
comely  while  he  wears  his  own  hair.  He  had  cocked  his 
hat,  on  which  were  bows,  and  he  wore  a  sword.  He  spoke 
also  in  a  mincing  London  manner,  having  forsworn  the 
honest  broad  speech  of  Somerset ;  and  (but  not  in  the  pres- 
ence of  his  elders)  he  used  strange  oaths  and  ejaculations. 

"  Behold  him  !"  said  his  father,  by  no  means  displeased 
at  his  son's  foppery,  because  he  ever  loved  the  city  fashions 
and  thought  that  a  young  man  did  well  to  dress  and  to 
comport  himself  after  the  way  of  the  world.  "Behold  liim  ! 
Thus  he  sits  in  the  coffee-house  ;  thus  he  shows  himself  in 
the  pit  Youth  is  the  time  for  finery  and  for  folly.  Alas  I 
would  that  we  could  bring  back  that  time  !  What  saith 
John  Dryden — glorious  John — of  Sir  Fopling.? — 

'  His  various  modes  from  various  fashions  follow  : 
One  taught  the  toss,  ami  one  the  new  French  wallow  ; 
His  sword-knot  this,  his  cravat  that,  designed, 
And  this  the  yard-long  snal<e  he  twirls  behind 
From  one  the  sacred  periwig  he  gained. 
Which  wind  ne'er  blew,  nor  touch  of  hat  profaned.'  " 

"Well,  Ben,"  said  Sir  Christopher,  "  if  the  mode  can  help 
*hee  to  the  bench  why  not  follow  the  mode?  " 

"It  will  not  hinder,  sir,"  Ben  replied.  "A  man  who 
yiath  his  fortune  to  make  does  well  to  be  scon  everywhere, 
and  to  be  dressed  like  other  men  of  his  time." 


44  FOR  FAITir  AND  FREEDOM. 

One  must  do  Benjamin  the  justice  to  acknowledge  that 
though,  like  the  young  gentlemen  his  friends  and  com- 
panions his  dress  was  foppish,  and  his  talk  was  of  the 
pleasures  of  the  town,  he  suffered  nothing  to  stand  in  the 
way  of  his  advancement.  He  was  resolved  upon  being  a 
great  lawyer,  and,  therefore,  if  he  spent  the  evening  iii 
drinking,  singing,  and  making  merry,  he  was  reading  in 
chambers  or  else  attending  the  courts  all  the  day,  ana 
neglected  nothing  that  would  make  him  master  of  Ir.i; 
profession.  And,  though  of  learning  he  had  little,  hi^ 
natural  parts  were  so  good,  and  his  resolution  was  so 
strong,  that  I  doubt  not  he  would  have  achieved  his 
ambition  had  it  not  been  for  the  circumstances  whicb. 
afterwards  cut  short  his  career.  His  cours«  of  life, 
by  his  own  boasting,  was  profligate  ;  his  friends  were 
drinkers  and  revellers ;  his  favorite  haunt  was  the  tavern, 
where  they  all  drank  punch  and  sang  ungodly  songs,  and 
smoked  tobacco  ;  and  of  religion  he  seemed  to  have  no 
care  whatever. 

I  was  afraid  fhat  he  would  return  to  the  nauseous  subject 
which  he  had  opened  three  years  before.  Therefore,  I  con- 
tinued with  my  mother,  and  would  give  him  no  chance  to 
speak  with  me.  But  he  found  me,  and  caught  me  return- 
ing home  one  evening. 

"Grace,"  he  said,  "I  feared  that  I  might  have  to  go  away 
without  a  word  alone  with  thee." 

"  I  want  no  words  alone,  Benjamin.  Let  me  pass  !  "  for 
he  stood  before  me  in  the  way. 

"Not  so  fast,  pretty  !  " — he  caught  me  by  the  wrist,  and, 
being  a  young  man  so  strong  and  determined,  he  held  me 
as  by  a  vice.  "Not  so  fast,  Mistress  Grace.  First,  my 
dear,  let  me  tell  thee  that  my  purpose  still  holds — nay  " — 
here  he  swore  a  most  dreadful,  impious  oath — "  I  am  more 
resolved  than  ever.  There  is  not  a  woman,  even  m  Lon- 
don, that  is  to  be  compared  with  thee,  child.  Whet  ? 
Compared  with  thee .''  Why,  they  are  like  the  twinkling 
stars  compared  with  the  glorious  queen  of  night.  What 
did  I  say? — that  at  nineteen  thou  wouldst  be  a  miracle  of 
beauty?  Nay,  that  time  hath  come  already  !  I  love  thee, 
child  1  I  love  thee,  I  say,  ten  times  as  much  as  ever  I 
lored  thee  before  !  " 

He  gasped,  and  then  breathed  hard  ;  but  still  he  held  me 
fast. 

"Idle  compliments  cost  a  man  nothing,  Benjamin.  Say 
irfiat  you  meant  to  say  and  let  me  go.     If  you  hold  me 


hVR  FAITH  AND  FJikEDOM.  ^  J 

any  longer  I  will  cry  out  and  bring  your  father  to  learn  the 
the  reason." 

"Well,"  he  said,  "I  will  not  keep  thee.  I  have  said  what 
I  wanted  to  say.  My  time  hath  not  yet  arrived.  I  am  short- 
ly to  be  called,  and  shall  then  begin  to  practise.  When  I 
come  back  here  again,  'twill  be  with  a  ring  in  one  hand, 
and  in  the  other  the  prospect  of  the  woolsack.  Think  upon 
that  while  I  am  gone.  '  Your  ladyship  '  is  finer  than  plain 
'madame,' and  the  court  is  more  delightful  than  a  village 
green  among  the  pigs  and  ducks.  Think  upon  it  well  : 
thou  art  a  lucky  girl  ;  a  plain  village  girl  to  be  promoted 
to  a  coronet !  However,  I  have  no  fears  for  thee ;  thou 
wilt  adorn  the  highest  fortune.  Thou  wilt  be  worthy  of 
the  great  place  whither  I  shall  lead  thee.  What?  Is  Sir 
George  Jeffreys  a  better  man  than  I  ?  Is  he  of  better 
family?  Had  he  better  interest  ?  Is  he  a  bolder  man  ?  Not 
so.  Yet  was  Sir  George  a  common  sergeant  at  twenty- 
three,  and  recorder  at  thirty  :  chief  justice  of  Chester  at 
thirty-two.  What  he  has  done  I  can  do.  Moreover,  Sir 
George  hath  done  me  the  honor  to  admit  me  to  his  com- 
pany, and  will  advance  me.  This  he  hath  promised,  both 
in  his  cups  and  when  he  is  sober.  Think  it  over,  child  : 
a  ring  in  one  hand  and  a  title  in  the  other  !  " 

So  Benjamin  went  away  again.  I  was  afraid  when  I 
thought  of  him  and  his  promise,  because  I  knew  him  of 
old ;  and  his  eyes  were  as  full  of  determination  as  when  he 
would  fight  a  lad  of  his  own  age  and  go  on  fighting  till  the 
other  had  had  enough.  Yet  he  could  not  marry  me  against 
my  will.  His  own  father  would  protect  me,  to  say  nothing 
of  mine. 

I  should  have  told  him  then — as  I  had  told  him  before — 
that  I  would  never  marry  him.  Then,  perhaps,  he  would 
have  been  shaken  in  his  purpose.  The  very  thought  of 
marrying  him  filled  me  with  terror  unspeakable.  I  was 
afraid  of  him  not  only  because  he  was  so  masterful — nay, 
women  like  a  man  to  be  strong  of  will — but  because  he  had 
no  religion  in  him  and  lived  like  an  atheist,  if  such  a  wretch 
there  be  ;  at  all  events,  with  unconcern  about  his  soul  ; 
and  because  his  life  was  profligate,  his  tastes  were  gross,  and 
he  was  a  drinker  of  much  wine.  Even  at  the  manor-house 
I  had  seen  him  at  supper  drinking  until  his  cheeks  were 
puffed  out  and  his  voice  grew  thick.  What  kind  of  happi- 
ness would  there  be  for  a  wife  whose  husband  has  to  be 
carried  home  by  his  varlets  too  heavy  with  drink  to  stand 
or  to  speak  ? 


46  FOR  FAITH  AND  FKEFDOM. 

Alas  !  there  is  one  thing  which  girls,  happily,  do  nevei 
apprehend.  They  cannot  understand  how  it  is  possible  for 
a  man  to  become  so  possessed  with  the  idea  of  their  charms 
(which  they  hold  themselves  as  of  small  account,  knowing 
how  fleeting  they  are,  and  of  what  small  value)  that  he  will 
go  through  tire  and  water  for  that  woman  ;  yea;  and  break 
all  the  commandments,  heedless  of  his  immortal  soul,  rather 
than  suffer  another  man  to  take  her — and  that  even  though 
he  knows  that  the  poor  creature  loves  him  not,  or  loves  an- 
other man.  If  maidens  knew  this,  I  think  that  they  would  go 
in  fear  and  trembling  lest  they  should  be  coveted  by  some 
wild  beast  in  human  shape,  and  prove  the  death  of  the  gal- 
lant gentleman,  whom  they  would  choose  for  their  lover. 
Or  they  would  make  for  themselves  convents  and  hide  in 
them,  so  great  would  be  their  fear.  But  it  is  idle  to  speak 
of  this,  because,  say  what  one  will,  girls  can  never  under- 
stand the  power  and  the  vehemence  of  love,  when  once  it 
hath  seized  and  doth  thoroughly  possess  a  man. 


CHAPTER  VIL 

MEDICINE     DOCTOR. 

Humphrey  did  not,  like  Benjamin,  brag  of  the  things  he 
would  do  when  he  should  go  forth  into  the  world.  Never- 
theless, he  thought  much  about  his  future,  and  frequently 
he  discoursed  with  me  about  the  life  that  he  fain  would  lead. 
A  young  man,  I  think,  wants  some  one  with  whom  he  may 
speak  freely  concerning  the  thoughts  which  fill  his  soul. 
We  who  belong  to  the  sex  which  receives  but  does  not  create 
or  invent,  which  profits  by  man's  good  work,  and  suffers 
from  the  evil  which  he  too  often  does,  have  no  such  thoughts 
and  ambitions. 

"I  cannot,"  he  would  say,  "take  upon  me  holy  orders, 
as  Mr.  Boscorel  would  have  me,  promising,  in  my  cousin 
Robin's  name,  this  living  after  his  death,  because,  though  I 
am  in  truth  a  mere  pauper  and  dependant,  there  are  in  me 
none  of  those  prickings  of  the  Spirit  which  I  could  interpret 
into  a  divine  call  for  the  ministry  ;  next,  because  I  could 
not  in  conscience  sign  the  Thirty-nine  Articles  while  I  still 
keld  that  the  Nonconformist  way  of  worship  was  more  con- 


FOR  FA  I 'fir  AND  FRFFDOA/.  47 

sonant  with  the  Word  of  God.  And,  again,  I  am  of  the 
opinion  that  the  law,  which  forbids  any  but  a  well-formed 
man  from  serving  at  the  altar,  hath  in  it  something  eternal. 
It  denotes  that  as  no  cripple  may  serve  at  the  earthly  altar, 
so  in  heaven,  of  which  the  altar  is  an  emblem,  all  those 
who  dwell  therein  shall  be  perfect  in  body  as  in  soul.  What, 
then,  is  such  an  one  as  myself,  who  hath  some  learning 
and  no  fortune,  to  do  }  Sir  Christopher,  my  benefactor  will 
maintain  me  at  Oxford  until  I  have  taken  a  degree.  This 
\s  more  than  I  could  have  expected.  Therefore,  I  am  re- 
solved to  take  a  degree  in  medicine.  It  is  the  only  profes- 
sion fit  for  a  misshapen  creature  like  mc.  They  will  not 
laugh  at  me  when  I  alleviate  their  pains." 
"Could  any  one  laugh  at  you,  Humphrey  }  " 
"Pray  Heaven  I  frighten  not  the  ladies  at  the  first  aspect 
of  me."  He  laughed,  but  not  with  merriment ;  for,  indeed, 
a  cripple  or  a  hunchback  cannot  laugh  mirthfully  over  his 
own  misfortune.  "Some  men  speak  scornfully  of  the  pro- 
fession," he  went  on.  "The  great  French  playwright, 
Monsieur  Moliere,  hath  made  the  physicians  the  butt  and 
laughing-stock  of  all  Paris.  Yet  consider.  It  is  medicine 
which  prolongs  our  days  and  relieves  our  pains.  Before 
the  science  was  studied,  the  wretch  who  caught  a  fever  in 
the  marshy  forest  lay  down  and  died  ;  an  ague  lasted  all 
one's  life  ;  a  sore  throat  putrefied  and  killed  ;  a  rheumatism 
threw  a  man  upon  the  bed  from  which  he  would  never  rise. 
The  physician  is  man's  chief  friend.  If  our  sovereigns 
studied  the  welfare  of  humanity  as  deeply  as  the  art  of  war, 
they  would  maintain,  at  a  vast  expense,  great  colleges  of 
learned  men  continually  engaged  in  discovering  the  secrets 
of  nature — the  causes  and  the  remedies  of  disease.  What 
better  use  can  a  man  make  of  his  life  than  to  discover  one 
—only  one — sacret  which  will  drive  away  part  of  the  agony 
of  disease  ?  The  Jews,  more  merciful  than  the  Romans, 
stupefied  their  criminals  after  they  were  crucified  ;  so  they 
died,  indeed,  but  their  sufferings  were  less.  So  the  physi- 
cian, though  in  the  end  all  men  must  die,  may  help  them 
to  die  without  pain.  Nay,  I  have  even  thought  that  we 
might  devise  means  of  causing  the  patient  by  some  potent 
drug  to  fall  into  so  deep  a  sleep  that  even  the  surgeon's 
knife  shall  not  cause  him  to  awaken." 

He  therefore,  before  he  entered  at  Oxford,  read  with  my 
father  many  learned  books  of  the  ancients  on  the  science 
and  practice  of  medicine,  and  studied  botany  with  the  help, 
of  such  books  as  he  could  procure. 


4§  FOR  IAIT?f  AND  FREEbOM, 

Some  men  have  but  one  side  to  them — that  is  to  say,  th« 
only  active  part  of  them  is  engaged  in  but  one  study  ;  the 
rest  is  given  up  to  rest  or  indolence.  Thus  Benjamin 
studied  law  diligently,  but  nothing  else.  Humphrey,  for 
his  part,  read  his  Galen  and  his  Celsus,  but  he  neglected 
not  the  cultivation  of  those  arts  and  accomplishments  in 
which  Mr.  Boscorel  was  as  ready  a  teacher  as  he  was  a 
ready  scholar.  He  thus  learned  the  history  of  painting  and 
sculpture  and  architecture,  and  that  of  coins  and  medals,  so 
that  at  eighteen  Humphrey  might  already  have  set  up  as  a 
virtuoso. 

Nor  was  this  all.  Still,  by  the  help  of  the  rector,  he 
learned  the  use  of  the  pencil  and  the  brush,  and  could  both 
draw  prettily  and  paint  in  water-colors,  whether  the  cottages 
or  the  church,  the  cows  in  the  fields,  or  the  woods  and  hills. 
I  have  many  pictures  of  his  painting  which  he  gave  me 
from  time  to  time.  And  he  could  play  sweetly,  whether  on 
the  spinnet,  or  the  violin,  or  the  guitar,  spending  many 
hours  every  week  with  Mr.  Boscorel  playing  duettos  to- 
gether ;  and  willingly  he  would  sing,  having  a  rich  and  full 
voice  very  delightful  to  hear.  When  I  grew  a  great  girl, 
and  had  advanced  far  enough,  I  was  permitted  to  play  with 
them.  There  was  no  end  to  the  music  which  Mr.  Boscorel 
possessed.  First,  he  had  a  great  store  of  English  ditties 
such  as  country-people  love — as,  "Sing all  a  green  willow,"' 
"Gather  ye  rosebuds  while  ye  may,"  or  "  Once  I  loved  a 
maiden  fair,"  There  was  nothing  rough  or  rude  in  these 
songs,  though  I  am  informed  that  much  wickedness  is 
taught  by  the  ribald  songs  that  are  sung  in  playhouses  and 
coffee-rooms.  And  when  we  were  not  playing  or  singing, 
Mr.  Boscorel  would  read  us  poetry — portions  from  Shake- 
speare or  Ben  Jonson,  or  out  of  Milton's  "  Paradise  Lost ;  " 
or  from  Herrick,  who  is  surely  the  sweetest  poet  that  ever 
lived,  "  yet  marred,"  said  Mr.  Boscorel,  "by  much  coarse- 
ness and  corruption."  Now,  one  day,  after  we  had  been 
thus  reading — one  winter  afternoon,  when  the  sun  lay  upon 
the  meadows — Humphrey  walked  home  with  me,  and  on 
the  way  confessed,  with  many  blushes,  that  he,  too,  had 
been  writing  verses.  And  with  that  he  lugged  a  paper  out 
of  his  pocket. 

"They  are  for  thine  own  eyes  only,  Grace.  Truly,  my 
dear,  thou  hast  the  finest  eyes  in  the  world.  They  are  for 
no  other  eyes  than  thine,"  he  repeated.  "  Not  for  Robin, 
mind,  lest  he  laugh  ;  poetry  hath  in  it  something  sacred,  so 
that  even  the  writer  of  bad  verses  cannot  bear  to  have  them 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 


4^ 


laughed  at  When  thou  art  a  year  or  two  older  thou  wilt 
understand  that  they  were  written  for  thy  heart  as  well  as 
for  thine  eyes.  Yet,  if  thou  like  the  verses,  they  may  be 
seen  by  Mr.  Boscorel,  but  in  private  ;  and  if  he  laug;h  at 
them  do  not  tell  me.  Yet,  again,  one  would  like  to  know 
what  he  said  ;  wherefore,  tell  me,  though  his  words  be  like 
a  knife  in  my  side." 

Thus  he  wavered  between  wishing  to  show  them  to  his 
master  in  art,  and  fearing. 

In  the  end,  when  I  showed  them  to  Mr.  Boscorel,  he  said 
ftiat,  for  a  beginner,  they  were  very  well — very  well,  in- 
deed ;  that  the  rhymes  were  correct,  and  the  metre  true  ; 
that  years  and  practice  would  give  greater  firmness,  and 
that  the  crafty  interlacing  of  thought  and  passion,  which 
was  the  characteristic  of  Italian  verse,  could  only  be  learned 
by  much  reading  of  the  Italian  poets.  More  he  said,  speak- 
ing upon  the  slight  subject  of  rhyme  and  poetry  with  as 
much  seriousness  and  earnestness  as  if  he  were  weighing 
and  comparing  texts  of  Scripture. 

Then  he  gave  me  back  the  verses  with  a  sigh. 

"Child,'"  he  said.  "To  none  of  us  is  given  what  most 
we  desire.  For  my  part,  I  longed  in  his  infancy  that  my 
son  should  grow  up  even  as  Humphrey,  as  quick  to  learn  ; 
with  as  true  a  taste ;  with  as  correct  an  ear  ;  with  a  hand  so 
skillful.  But — you  see,  I  complain  not,  though  Benjamin 
loves  the  noisy  tavern  better  than  the  quiet  coffee-house 
where  the  wits  resort.  To  him  such  things  as  verses,  art, 
and  music  are  foolishness.  I  say  that  I  complain  not ;  but 
I  would  to  Heaven  that  Humphrey  were  my  own,  and  that 
his  shoulders  were  straight,  poor  lad  !  Thy  father  hath  made 
him  a  Puritan  ;  he  is  such  as  John  Milton  in  his  youth — and 
as  beautiful  in  face  as  that  stout  Republican.  I  doubt  not 
that  we  shall  have  from  the  hand  of  Humphrey,  if  he  live 
and  prosper,  something  tine,  the  nature  of  which,  whether 
it  is  to  be  in  painting,  or  in  music,  or  in  poetry,  I  know 
not  Take  the  verses,  and  take  care  that  thou  lose  them 
not ;  and,  child — remember — the  poet  is  allowed  to  say  what 
he  pleases  about  a  woman's  eyes.  Be  not  deceived  into 
thinking —  But  no — no — there  is  no  fear.  Good-night, 
thou  sweet  and  innocent  saint." 

I  knew  not  then  what  he  meant,  but  these  are  the  verses  ; 
and  I  truly  think  that  they  are  very  moving  and  religious. 
For  if  woman  be  truly  the  most  beautiful  work  of  the  Creator 
(which  all  men  aver),  then  it  behoove*  her  all  the  morestili 
to  point  upwaxU.     I  read  them  with  a  pleasure  and  surprise 

4 


5° 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 


that  filled  my  whole  soul,  and  inflamed  my  heart  with  pious 
joy: 

"  Around,  above,  and  everywhere 

The  earlh  haih  many  a  lovely  thing; 
The  zephyrs  sofl,  the  flowers  fair, 

The  babbling  brook,  the  bubbling  springy 

"  The  gray  of  dawn,  the  azure  sky, 

The  sunset  glow,  the  evening  gloom; 
The  warbling  thrush,  the  skylark  high, 
The  blossoming  hedge,  the  garden's  bloom. 

**  The  sun  in  state,  the  moon  in  pride, 
The  twinkling  stars  in  order  laid; 
The  winds  that  ever  race  and  ride. 
The  shadows  flying  o'er  the  glade. 

**  Oh!  many  a  lovely  thing  hath  earth, 
To  charm  the  eye  and  witch  the  soul; 
Yet  one  there  is  of  passing  worth — 
For  that  one  thing  I  give  the  whole. 

*'  The  crowning  work,  the  last  thing  made, 
Creation's  masterpiece  to  be — 
Bend  o'er  yon  stream,  and  there  displayed 
This  wondrous  thing  reflected  see. 

"  Behold  a  face  for  heaven  designed; 
See  how  those  eyes  thy  soul  betray — 
Love — secret  love — there  sits  enshrined; 
And  upward  still  doth  point  the  way." 

When  Humphrey  went  away,  he  did  not,  like  Benjamin, 
come  blustering  and  declaring  that  he  would  marry  me, 
and  that  he  would  break  the  skull  of  any  other  man  who 
dared  to  make  love  to  me— not  at  all;  Humphrey,  with 
tears  in  his  eyes,  told  me  that  he  was  sorry  I  could  not  go 
to  Oxford  as  well  ;  that  he  was  going  to  lose  the  sweetest 
companion  ;  and  that  he  should  always  love  me :  and  then 
he  kissed  me  on  the  forehead,  and  so  departed.  Why  should 
he  not  always  love  me  ?  1  knew  very  well  that  he  loved 
me,  and  that  I  loved  him.  Although  he  was  so  young, 
being  only  seventeen  when  he  was  entered  at  Exeter  Col- 
lege, I  suppose  there  never  was  a  young  gentleman  went 
to  the  University  of  Oxford  with  so  many  accomplishments 
and  so  much  learning.  By  my  father's  testimony  he  read 
Greek  as  if  it  were  his  mother  tongue,  and  he  wrote  and 
conversed  easily  in  Latin  ;  and  you  have  heard  what  arts 
and  accomplishments  he  added  to  this  solid  learning.  He 
was  elected  to  a  scholarship  at  his  college,  that  of  Exeter, 
find,  after  he  took  his  degree  as  bachelor  of  medicine,  he 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  5I 

was  made  a  fellow  of  All-Souls,  where  Mr.  Boscorel  him- 
self had  also  been  a  fellow.  This  election  was  not  only  a 
great  distinction  for  him,  but  it  gave  him  what  a  learned 
young  man  especially  desires — the  means  of  living  and  of 
pursuing  his  studies. 

While  he  was  at  Oxford  he  wrote  letters  to  Sir  Christo- 
pher, to  Mr.  Boscorel,  and  to  my  father  (to  whom  also  he 
sent  such  new  books  and  pamphlets  as  he  thought  would 
interest  him).  To  me  he  sent  sometimes  drawings  and 
sometimes  books,  but  never  verses. 

Now  (to  make  an  end  of  Humphrey  for  the  present)  when 
he  had  obtained  his  fellowship,  he  ask-ed  for  and  obtained 
leave  of  absence  and  permission  to  study  medicine  in  those 
great  schools  which  far  surpass,  they  say,  our  English 
schools  of  medicine.  These  are  that  of  Montpellier;  the 
yet  more  famous  school  of  Padua,  in  Italy  ;  and  that  of 
Leyden,  whither  many  Englishmen  resort  for  study,  no- 
tably Mr.  Evelyn,  whose  book  called  "Sylva"  wasin  the 
rector's  library. 

He  carried  on  during  the  whole  of  this  time  a  correspond- 
ence with  Mr.  Boscorel  on  the  painting,  statues,  and  archi- 
tecture to  be  seen  wherever  his  travels  carried  him.  These 
letters  Mr.  Boscorel  read  aloud,  with  a  map  spread  before 
him,  discoursing  on  the  history  of  the  place  and  the  chief 
things  to  be  seen  there,  before  he  began  to  read.  Surely 
there  never  was  a  man  so  much  taken  up  with  the  fine  arts, 
especially  as  they  were  practised  by  the  ancients. 

There  remains  the  last  of  the  boys — Robin,  Sir  Christo- 
pher's grandson  and  heir.  I  should  like  this  book  to  be  all 
about  Robin — yet  one  must  needs  speak  of  the  others.  I 
declare  that  from  the  beginning  there  never  was  a  boy  more 
happy,  more  jolly  ;  never  any  one  more  willing  to  be  al- 
ways making  some  one  happy.  He  loved  the  open  air, 
the  wild  creatures,  the  trees,  the  birds,  everything  that  lives 
beneath  the  sky;  yet  not  like  my  poor  brother  Barnaby — a 
hater  of  books.  He  read  all  the  books  which  told  about 
creatures,  or  hunting,  or  country  life  ;  and  all  voyages  and 
travels.  A  fresh-colored,  wholesome  lad,  not  so  grave  as 
Humphrey,  nor  so  moody  as  Benjamin,  who  always  seemed 
to  carry  with  him  the  scent  of  woods  and  fields.  He  was 
to  Sir  Christopher  what  Benjamin  was  to  Jacob.  Even  my 
father  loved  him  though  he  was  so  poor  a  scholar. 

Those  who  stayed  at  home  have  homely  wits — therefore 
Robin  must  follow  Humphrey  to  Oxford.  He  went  thither 
^e  year  after  his  cousiii,     I  never  learned  that  he  obtained 


yi  POA'  PAirir  AND  t'^REkDO.\t. 

a  scholarship,  or  that  he  was  considered  one  of  the  youngei 
pillars  of  that  learned  and  ancient  university  ;  or,  indeed, 
that  he  took  a  degree  at  all. 

After  he  left  Oxford  he  must  go  to  London,  there  to  study 
juslice's  law  and  fit  himself  for  the  duties  h«  would  have 
to  fulfill.  Also  his  grandfather  would  have  him  acquire 
some  knowledge  of  the  court  and  the  city,  and  the  ways  of 
the  great  and  the  rich.  This,  too,  he  did  ;  though  he  never 
learned  to  prefer  those  ways  to  the  simple  customs  and  hab- 
its of  his  Somerset  village. 

He,  too,  like  the  other  two,  bade  me  a  tender  farewell. 

"  Poor  Grace  !"  he  said,  taking  both  my  hands  in  his. 
' '  What  wilt  thou  do  when  I  am  gone  .?  ' 

Indeed,  since  Humphrey  went  away,  we  had  been  daily 
companions ;  and  at  the  thought  of  being  thus  left  alone  the 
tears  were  running  down  my  cheeks. 

"  Why,  sweetheart,"  he  said,  "  to  think  that  I  should  ever 
make  thee  cry — I  who  desire  nothing  but  to  make  thee  al- 
ways laugh  and  be  happy  !  What  wilt  thou  do  ?  Go  often 
to  my  mother.  She  loves  thee  as  if  her  own  daughter.  Go 
and  talk  to  her  concerning  me.  It  pleaseth  the  poor  soul 
to  be  still  talking  of  her  son.  And  forget  not  my  grand- 
father. Play  backgammon  with  him  ;  fill  his  pipe  for  him  ; 
sing  to  the  spinnet  for  him  ;  talk  to  him  about  Humphrey 
and  me.  And  forget  not  Mr.  Boscorel,  my  uncle.  The  poor 
man  looks  as  melancholy  since  Humphrey  went  away  as  a 
turtle  robbed  of  her  nest.  I  saw  him  yesterday  opening  one 
of  his  drawers  full  of  medals,  and  he  sighed  over  them  fit  to 
break  his  heart.  He  sighed  for  Humphrey,  not  for  Ben. 
Well,  child,  what  more  ?  Take  Lance" — 'twas  his  dog — 
"  for  a  run  every  day  ?  make  George  Sparrow  keep  an  eye 
upon  the  stream  for  otters  ;  and — there  are  a  thousand  things 
but  I  will  write  them  down.  Have  patience  with  the  dear 
old  man  when  he  will  be  still  talking  about  me." 

"Patience,  Robin,"  I  said.  "Why,  we  all  love  to  talk 
about  thee." 

"  Do  you  alllove  to  talk  about  me.?  'Dost  thou,  too 
Grace?  Oh,  my  dear,  my  dear?'  Here  he  took  me  in  his 
arms  and  kissed  me  on  the  lips.  "Dost  thou  also  love  to 
talk  about  me?  Why,  my  dear,  I  shall  think  of  nothing  but 
of  thee.  Because — oh  !  my  dear — my  dear  I  I  love  thee 
with  all  my  heart." 

Well,  I  was  still  so  foolish  that  I  understood  nothing 
more  than  that  we  all  loved  him,  and  he  loved  us  all. 

"  Grace  I  will  write  letters  to  thee.       I  will  put  them  in 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 


53 


the  packet  for  my  mother.  Thus  thou  wilt  understand  that 
I  am  always  thinking  of  thee." 

He  was  as  good  as  his  word.  But  the  letters  were  so  full 
of  the  things  he  was  doing  and  seeing  that  it  was  quite  clear 
that  his  mind  had  plenty  of  room  for  more  than  one  object. 

To  be  sure,  I  should  have  been  foolish,  indeed,  had  I  de- 
sired that  his  letters  should  tell  me  that  he  was  always 
thinking  about  me,  when  he  should  have  been  attending  to 
his  business. 

After  a  year  in  London  his  grandfather  thought  that  he 
should  travel.  Therefore,  he  went  abroad  and  joined  Hum- 
phrey at  Montpellier,  and  with  him  rode  northward  to  Ley- 
den,  where  he  sojourned  while  his  cousin  attended  the  lec- 
tures of  that  famous  school. 


CHAPTER  Vni. 

A     ROYAL     PROGRESS. 

When  all  the  boys  were  gone  the  time  was  quiet,  indeed, 
for  those  who  were  left  behind.  My  mother's  wheel  went 
spinning  still,  but  I  think  that  some  kindness  on  the  part  of 
Mr.  Boscorel  as  well  as  Sir  Christopher  caused  her  weekly 
tale  of  yarn  to  be  of  less  importance.  And  as  for  me,  not 
only  would  she  never  suffer  me  to  sit  at  the  spinning-wheel, 
but  there  was  so  much  request  of  me  (to  replace  the  boys) 
that  I  was  nearly  all  the  day  either  with  Sir  Christopher  or 
with  madame,  or  with  Mr.  Boscorel. 

Up  to  the  year  1680,  or  thereabouts  I  paid  no  more  atten- 
tion to  political  matters  than  any  young  woman  with  n-o 
knowledge  may  be  supposed  to  give.  Yet,  of  course,  I  was 
on  the  side  of  liberty,  both  civil  and  religious.  How  should 
that  be  otherwise,  my  father  being  such  as  he  was,  muzzled 
for  all  these  years,  the  work  of  his  life  prevented  and  de- 
stroyed. 

It  was  in  that  year,  however,  that  I  became  a  most  zeal- 
ous partisan  and  lover  of  the  Protestant  cause  in  the  way 
that  I  am  about  to  relate. 

Everybody  knows  that  there  is  no  part  of  Great  Britian 
(not  even  Scotland)  where  the  Protestant  religion  hath  sui> 
portcrs  more  stout  and  stanch  than  Somerset  and  Devon- 


54  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

shire.  I  hope  I  shall  not  be  accused  of  disloyalty  to  Queen 
Anne,  under  whom  we  flourish  and  are  happy,  when  I  say 
that  in  the  West  ot  England  we  had  grown — I  know  not 
how — to  regard  the  late  misguided  Duke  of  Monmouth  as 
the  champion  of  the  Protestant  faith.  When,  therefore,  the 
duke  came  into  the  West  of  England  in  the  year  1680,  five 
years  befora  the  Rebellion,  he  was  everywhere  received 
with  acclamations  and  by  crowds  who  gathered  round  him 
to  witness  their  loyalty  to  the  Protestant  faith.  They  came 
also  to  look  upon  the  gallant  commander  who  had  defeated 
the  French  and  the  Dutch,  and  was  said  (but  erroneously) 
to  be  as  wise  as  he  was  brave,  and  as  religious  as  he  was 
beautiful  to  look  upon.  As  for  his  wisdom,  those  who 
knew  him  best  have  since  assured  the  world  that  he  had  lit- 
tle or  none,  his  judgment  being  always  swayed  and  deter- 
mined for  him  by  crafty  and  subtle  persons  seeking  their 
own  interests.  And  as  for  his  religion,  whatever  .iiay  have 
been  his  profession,  good  works  were  wanting — as  is  now 
very  well  known.  But  at  that  time,  and  among  our  people, 
the  wicked  ways  of  courts  were  only  half  understood. 
And  there  can  be  no  doubt  that,  whether  he  was  wise  or 
religious,  the  show  of  affection  with  which  the  duke  was 
received  upon  this  journey  turned  his  head,  and  caused  him 
to  think  that  these  people  would  rally  round  him  if  he  called 
upon  them.  And  I  suppose  that  there  is  nothing  which 
more  delights  a  prince  than  to  believe  that  his  friends  are 
ready  even  to  lay  down  their  lives  in  his  behalf. 

At  that  time  the  country  was  greatly  agitated  by  anxiety 
concerning  the  succession.  Those  who  were  nearest  the 
throne  knew  that  King  Charles  was  secretly  a  papist.  We 
in  the  country  had  not  learned  that  dismal  circumstance  : 
yet  we  knew  the  religion  of  the  Duke  of  York.  Thousands 
there  were,  like  Sir  Christopher  himself,  who  now  lamented 
the  return  of  the  king,  considering  the  disgraces  which  had' 
fallen  upon  the  country.  But  what  was  done  could  not  be 
undone.  They,  therefore,  asked  themselves  if  the  nation 
would  suffer  an  avowed  papist  to  ascend  a  Protestant 
throne.  If  not,  what  should  be  done.?  And  here,  as  every- 
body knows,  was  opinion  divided.  For  some  declared 
that  the  Duke  of  Monmouth,  had  he  his  rights,  was  the 
lawful  heir ;  and  others  maintained  in  the  king's  own  word 
that  he  was  never  married  to  Mistress  Lucy  Waters.  There- 
fore they  would  have  the  Duke  of  York's  daughter,  a  Prot- 
estant princess,  married  to  William  of  Orange,  proclaimed 
queen,     The  Monmouth  party  were  strong,  however,  and 


FOR  FA  1 77/  AND  FREEDOM.  55 

ft  was  even  said — Mr.  Henry  Clark,  minisier  of  Crewkern, 
wrote  a  pamphlet  to  prove  it — that  a  poor  woman,  Eliza- 
beth Parcet  by  name,  touched  the  duke  (he  being 
ignorant  of  the  thing)  for  king's  evil,  and  was  straight- 
way healed.  Sir  Christopher  laughed  at  the  story,  saying 
that  the  king  himself,  whether  he  was  descended  from  a 
Scot  ish  Stuart  or  from  King  Solomon  himself,  could  no  more 
cure  that  dreadful  disease  than  the  seventh  son  of  a  seventh 
5on  (as  oome  foolish  people  believe),  or  the  rubbing  of  the 
partaffec  ted  by  the  hand  of  a  man  that  had  been  hanged  (as 
others  do  foolishly  believe),  which  is  the  reason  why  on 
the  gibbets  the  hanging  corpses  are  always  handless. 

I'  was  noised  abroad  beforehand  that  the  duke  was  going 
to  ride  through  the  West  Country  in  order  to  visit  his 
friends.  The  progress  (it  was  more  like  a  royal  progress 
than  the  journey  of  a  private  nobleman)  began  with  his 
visit  to  Mr.  Thomas  Thynne,  of  Longleat  House.  It  is 
said  that  his  chief  reason  for  going  to  that  house  was  to 
connect  himself  with  the  obligation  of  the  tenant  of  Lor^g- 
leat  to  give  the  king  and  his  suite  a  night's  lodging  when 
they  visited  that  part  of  the  country,  jNIr.  Thynne,  who 
entertained  the  duke  on  this  occasion,  was  the  same  who 
was  afterwards  murdered  in  London  by  Count  Konigsmark. 
They  called  him  "Tom  of  Ten  Thousand. "  The  poet  Dry- 
den  hath  written  of  this  progress  in  that  poem  wherein, 
under  the  fabled  name  of  Absalom,  he  figures  the  duke  : 

"  Me  now  begins  his  progross  to  ordain, 
"With  chariots,  hoisonicn,  and  a  niuijeroiis  train. 
Fame  runs  before  him  as  th(^  morning  star, 
And  shouts  of  joy  sakile  him  from  afar. 
Each  housfi  rooi'ives  him  as  a  guardian  god. 
And  consecrates  the  place  of  his  abode." 

It  was  for  his  hospitable  treatment  of  the  duke  thai  Mr, 
Thynne  was  immediately  afterwards  deprived  of  the  com- 
mand of  the  Wiltshire  militia. 

"Son-in-law,"  said  Sir  Christopher,  "I  would  ride  out  to 
meet  the  duke  in  respect  to  his  Protestant  professions.  As 
for  any  pretensions  he  may  have  to  the  succession,  I  know 
nothing  of  them." 

"  I  will  'ide  with  you,  sir,"  said  the  rector,  "  to  meet  the 
son  of  the  king.  And  as  for  any  Protestant  professions,  1 
know  nothing  of  them.  His  grace  remains,  I  believe,  with- 
in the  pale  of  the  Church  as  by  law  established.  Let  us  all 
ride  out  together." 


5(5  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

Seeing  that  my  father  also  rode  with  them,  it  is  certaii\ 
that  there  were  many  and  diverse  reasons  why  so  many 
thousands  gathered  together  to  welcome  the  duke.  Madame, 
Will's  mother,  out  of  her  kind  heart,  invited  me  to  accom- 
pany her,  and  gave  me  a  white  frock  to  wear  and  blue 
ribbons  to  put  into  it. 

We  n>ade,  with  our  servants,  a  large  party.  We  were  al- 
so joined  by  many  of  the  tenants,  with  their  sons  and  wives, 
so  that  when  we  came  to  Ilchester,  Sir  Christopher  was 
riding  at  the  head  of  a  great  company  of  sixty  or  more,  and 
very  fine  they  looked,  all  provided  with  blue  favors  in 
honor  of  the  duke. 

From  Bradford  Orcas  to  Ilchester  is  but  six  miles  as  the 
crow  flies,  but  the  ways  (which  are  narrow  and  foul  in 
winter)  do  so  wind  and  turn  about  that  they  add  two  miles 
at  least  to  the  distance.  Fortunately  the  season  was  sum- 
mer— namely,  August — when  the  sun  is  hottest  and  the 
earth  is  dry  so  that  no  one  was  bogged  on  the  way. 

We  started  betimes — namely,  at  six  in  the  morning — be- 
cause we  knew  not  for  certain  at  what  time  the  duke  would 
arrive  at  Ilchester.  When  we  came  forth  from  the  manor- 
house  the  farmers  were  already  waiting  for  us,  and  so,  after 
greetings  from  his  honor,  they  fell  in,  and  followed.  We 
first  took  the  narrow  and  rough  lane  which  leads  to  the 
high-road  ;  but,  when  we  reached  it,  we  found  it  full  of 
people  riding,  like  ourselves,  or  trudging,  staff  in  hand,  all 
m  the  same  direction.  They  were  going  to  gaze  upon  the 
Protestant  duke,  who,  if  he  had  his  way,  would  restore 
freedom  of  conscience  and  abolish  the  acts  against  the  Non- 
conformists. We  rode  through  Marston  Magna,  but  only 
the  old  people  and  the  little  children  were  left  there  ;  in  the 
fields  the  ripe  corn  stood  waiting  to  be  cut  ;  in  the  farm- 
yards the  beasts  were  standing  idle  ;  all  the  hinds  were  gone 
to  Ilchester  to  see  the  duke.  And  I  began  to  fear  lest  when  ■ 
we  got  to  Ilchester  we  should  be  too  late.  At  Marston  we 
left  the  main  road  and  entered  upon  a  road  (call  it  a  track 
rather  than  a  road)  across  the  country,  which  is  here  flat 
and  open.  In  winter  it  is  miry  and  boggy,  but  it  was  row 
dry  and  hard.  This  path  brought  us  again  to  the  main  road 
in  two  miles,  or  thereabouts,  and  here  we  were  but  a  mile 
or  so  from  Ilchester.  Now,  such  a  glorious  sight  as  await- 
ed us  here  I  never  expected  to  see.  Once  again,  after  five 
years,  I  was  to  see  a  welcome  still  more  splendid  ;  but 
nothing  can  ever  efface  from  my  memory  that  day.  For 
first    the  roadSj  as  I  have  said,  were  thronged  with  rustics, 


FOJ^  FAITJf  AXD  FREEDOM.  57 

and  next,  when  we  rode  into  the  town  we  found  it  filled 
with  gentlemen  most  richly  dressed,  and  ladies  so  beautiful 
and  with  such  splendid  attire  that  it  dazzled  my  eyes  to 
look  upon  them.  It  was  a  grand  thing  to  see  the  gentle- 
men take  off  their  hats  and  cry,  "Huzza  for  brave  Sir 
Christopher  !  "  Everybody  knew  his  opinions  and  on  what 
side  he  had  fought  in  the  Civil  War.  The  old  man  bent  his 
head,  and  I  thmk  that  he  Avas  pleased  with  this  mark  of 
honor. 

The  town  which,  though  ancient,  is  now  decayed  and 
hath  but  few  good  houses  in  it,  was  now  made  glorious 
with  bright-colored  cloths,  carpets,  flags,  and  ribbons.  There 
were  bands  of  music  ;  the  bells  of  the  church  \vere  ringing  ; 
the  main  street  was  like  a  fair  with  booths  and  stalls,  and 
in  the  market-place  there  were  benches  set  up  with  white 
canvas  covering,  where  sat  ladies  in  their  fine  dresses,  some 
of  them  with  naked  shoulders,  unseemly  to  behold.  Yet  it 
was  pretty  to  see  the  long  curls  lying  on  their  white  shoul- 
ders. Some  of  them  sat  with  half-closed  eyes,  which,  I 
have  since  learned,  is  a  fashion  of  the  court.  Mostly,  they 
wore  satin  petticoats,  and  demi-gownsalso  of  satin,  furnish- 
ed with  a  long  train.  Our  place  was  beside  the  old  cross 
with  its  gilt  ball  and  vane.  The  people  who  filled  the  streets 
rame  from  Sherborne,  from  Bruton,  from  Shepton,  from 
Glastonbury,  from  Langport,  from  Somerton,  and  from  all  the 
villages  round.  It  was  computed  that  there  were  twenty 
thousand  of  them.  Two  thousand  at  least  rode  out  to  meet 
the  duke  and  followed  after  him  when  he  rode  through  the 
town.  And,  oh  !  the  shouting  as  he  drew  near,  the  clashing  of 
bells,  the  beating  of  the  drums,  the  blowing  of  the  horns, 
the  firing  of  the  guns,  as  if  the  more  noise  they  made  the 
greater  would  be  the  duke. 

Since  that  day  I  have  not  wondered  at  the  power  which 
a  prince  hath  of  drawing  men  after  him,  even  to  the  death. 
Never  was  heir  to  the  crown  received  with  such  joy  and 
welcome  as  was  this  young  man,  who  had  no  title  to  the 
crown,  and  was  base-born.  Yet,  because  he  was  a  brave 
young  man,  and  comely  aboveall  other  young  men,  gracious 
©f  speech,  and  ready  with  a  laugh  and  a  joke,  and  because 
he  was  the  son  of  the  king,  and  the  reputed  champion  of  the 
Protestant  faith,  the  people  could  not  shout  too  loud  for 
him. 

The  duke  was  at  this  time  in  the  ])rime  of  manhood,  be- 
ing thirty-five  years  of  age.  "At  that  age,"  Mr.  Boscorel 
used  to  say,  "one  would  desire  to  remain  if  the  body  of 


^S  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

clay  were  immortal.  For  then  the  volatile  humors  of  youth 
have  been  dissipated  The  time  of  follies  has  passed  ;  love 
is  regarded  with  the  sober  eyes  of  experience  ;  knowledge 
has  been  acquired  ;  skill  of  eye  and  hand  has  been  gained, 
if  one  is  so  happy  as  to  be  a  follower  of  art  and  music  ; 
wisdom  hath  been  reached,  if  wisdom  is  ever  to  be  attained. 
But  wisdom,"  he  would  add,  "  is  a  quality  generally  lack- 
ing at  every  period  of  life." 

"  When  last  I  saw  the  duke,"  he  told  us  while  we  waited, 
"  was  fifteen  years  ago,  in  St.  James's  Park.  He  was  walk- 
ing with  the  king,  his  father,  who  had  his  arm  about  his 
son's  shoulders,  and  regarded  him  fondly.  At  that  time  he 
was,  indeed,  a  very  David  for  beauty.  I  suppose  that  he 
hath  not  kept  that  singular  loveliness  which  made  him  the 
darling  of  the  court.  That,  indeed,  were  not  a  thing  to  be 
desired  or  expected.  He  is  now  the  hero  of  Maestricht,  and 
the  Chancellor  of  Cambridge  University." 

And  then  all  hats  were  pulled  off,  and  the  ladies  waved 
their  handkerchiefs,  and  the  men  shouted,  and  you  would 
have  thought  the  bells  would  have  pulled  the  old  tower 
down  with  the  vehemence  of  their  ringing  ;  for  the  duke 
was  riding  into  the  town. 

He  was  no  longer  a  beautiful  boy,  but  a  man  at  whose 
aspect  every  heart  was  softened.  His  enemies,  in  his  pres- 
ence, could  not  blame  him  ;  his  friends,  at  sight  of  him, 
could  not  praise  him,  of  such  singular  beauty  was  he  pos- 
sessed. Softness,  gentleness,  kindness,  and  good  will 
reigned  in  his  large  soft  eyes  ;  graciousness  sat  upon  his 
lips,  and  all  his  face  seemed  to  smile  as  he  rode  slowly  be- 
tween the  lane  formed  by  the  crowd  on  either  hand. 

What  said  the  poet  Dryden  in  that  same  poem  of  his  from 
which  I  have  already  quoted  } — 

"  Early  in  foreign  fields  he  won  renown 
With  Kings  and  States  allied  to  Israel's  crown; 
In  peace  tlie  thoughts  of  war  he  could  remove, 
And  seemed  as  he  were  only  born  for  love. 
Whate'er  he  did  was  done  with  so  much  ease, 
In  him  alone  'twas  natural  to  please; 
His  motions  all  accompanied  with  grace, 
And  Paradise  was  opened  in  his  face." 

Now  I  hare  to  tell  of  what  happened  to  me — of  all  people 
in  the  world,  to  me — the  most  insignificant  person  in  the 
whole  crowd.  It  chanced  that  as  the  duke  came  near  the 
spot  beside  the  cross  where  we  were  standing,  the  press  irt 
front  obliged  him  to  stop.      He  looked  about  him  while  he 


FOE  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 


1% 


waited,  smiling  still  and  bowing  to  the  people.  Presently 
his  eyes  fell  upon  me,  and  he  whispered  a  gentleman  who 
rode  beside  him,  yet  a  little  in  the  rear.  This  gentleman 
laughed,  and  dismounted.  What  was  my  confusion  when 
he  advanced  towards  me  and  spoke  to  me  ! 

"Madame,"  he  said,  calling  me  "  madame  !  "  "His 
grace  would  say  one  word  to  you,  with  permission  of  your 
friends." 

"Go  with  this  gentleman,  child,"  said  Sir  Christopher, 
laughing.  Everybody  laughs — I  know  not  why — when  a 
girl  is  led  out  to  be  kissed. 

"Fair  white  rose  of  Somerset,"  said  his  grace — 'twas  the 
most  musical  voice  in  the  world,  and  the  softest.  "Fair 
white  rose  " — he  repeated  the  words — "let  me  be  assured 
of  the  welcome  of  llchester  by  a  kiss  from  your  sweet  lips, 
which  I  will  return  in  token  of  my  gratitude." 

All  the  people  who  heard  these  words  shouted  as  if  they 
would  burst  themselves  asunder.  And  the  gentleman  who 
had  led  me  forth  lifted  me  so  that  my  foot  rested  on  the 
duke's  boot,  while  his  grace  laid  his  arm  tenderly  round  my 
waist  and  kissed  me  twice. 

"  Sweet  child,"  he  said,   "  what  is  thy  name  .? " 

"  By  your  grace's  leave,"  I  said,  the  words  being  very 
strange,  "  I  am  the  daughter  of  Dr.  Comfort  Eykin,  an 
ejected  minister.  I  have  come  with  Sir  Christopher  Challis, 
who  stands  yonder." 

"  Sir  Christopher  !  "  said  the  duke,  as  if  surprised.  "  Let 
me  shake  hands  with  Sir  Christo])hcr.  I  take  it  kindly,  Sir 
Christopher,  that  you  have  so  far  honored  me."  So  he  gave 
the  old  man,  who  stepped  forward  bareheaded,  his  hand, 
still  holding  me  by  the  waist.  "  I  pray  that  we  may  meet 
again,  Sir  Christopher,  and  that  before  long."  Then  he  drew 
a  gold  ring,  set  with  emeralds,  from  his  forefiiiger,  and 
placed  it  upon  mine,  and  kissed  me  again,  and  then  suffered 
me  to  be  lifted  down.  And  you  may  be  sure  that  it  was 
with  red  cheeks  that  I  took  my  place  among  my  friends. 
Yet  Sir  Christopher  was  pleased  at  the  notice  taken  of  him 
by  the  duke,  and  my  father  was  not  displeased  at  the  part  I 
had  been  made  to  play. 

When  the  duke  had  ridden  through  the  town,  many  of  the 
people  followed  after,  as  far  as  White  Lackington,  which  is 
close  to  Ilminster.  So  many  were  they  that  they  took 
down  a  great  piece  of  the  park  paling  to  admit  them  all  : 
and  there,  under  a  Spanish  chestnut-tree,  the  duke  drank  to 
the  health  of  all  the  people. 


So  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

At  Ilminster,  whither  he  rode  a  few  days  later  ;  at  Chard,  ■ 
at  Ford  Abbey,  at  Wkyton,  and  at  Exeter — wherever  h« 
went,  he  was  received  with  the  same  shouts  and  acclama- 
tions. It  is  no  wonder,  therefore,  that  he  should  believe,  a 
few  years  later,  that  those  people  would  follow  him  when 
he  drew  the  sword  for  the  Protestant  religion. 

One  thing  is  certain — that  in  the  west  of  England,  from 
the  progress  of  Monmouth  to  the  rebellion,  there  was  un- 
easiness, with  an  anxious  lookmg  forward  to  troubled  times. 
The  people  of  Taunton  kept  as  a  day  of  holiday  and  thanks- 
giving the  anniversary  of  the  raising  of  Charles's  siege. 
When  the  mayor,  in  1683,  tried  to  stop  the  celebration, 
they  nearly  stoned  him  to  death.  After  this,  Sir  George 
Jeffreys,  afterwards  Lord  Jeffreys,  who  took  the  spring 
circuit  in  1684,  was  called  upon  to  report  on  the  loyalty  of 
the  west  country.  He  reported  that  the  gentry  were  loyal 
and  well  disposed.  But  he  knew  not  the  mind  of  the 
weavers  and  spinners  of  the  country. 

It  was  this  progress,  the  sight  of  the  duke's  sweet  face, 
his  flattery  of  me,  and  his  soft  words,  and  the  ring  he  gave 
me,  which  made  me  from  that  moment  such  a  partisan  of 
his  cause  as  only  a  woman  can  be.  Women  cannot  fight, 
but  they  can  feel  ;  and  they  cannot  only  ardently  desire,  but 
they  can  despise  and  contemn  those  who  think  otherwise. 
I  cannot  say  that  it  was  I  who  persuaded  our  boys  five  years 
later  to  join  the  duke  ;  but  I  can  truly  say  that  I  did  and 
said  all  that  a  woman  can  ;  that  I  rejoiced  when  they  did  so  ; 
and  that  I  should  never  have  forgiven  Robin  had  he  joined 
the  forces  of  the  Papist  king. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

WITH    THE    ELDERS. 

So  we  went  home  again,  all  well  pleased,  and  I  holding 
the  duke's  ring  tight,  I  promise  you.  It  was  a  most  beauti- 
ful ring  when  I  came  to  look  at  it  ;  a  great  emerald  was  in 
the  midst  of  it,  with  little  pearls  and  emeralds  set  alternately 
around  it.  Never  was  such  a  grand  gift  to  so  humble  a 
person.  I  tied  it  to  a  black  ribbon  and  put  it  in  the  box 
whJth  held  my  clothes.     But  sometimes  I  could  not  forbeai 


1^0 R  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  6 1 

the  pleasure  of  wearing  it  round  my  neck,  secretly  ;  not  for 
the  joy  of  possessing  the  ring  so  much  as  for  remembering 
the  lovely  face  and  the  gracious  words  of  the  giver. 

At  that  time  I  was  in  my  sixteenth  year,  but  well  grown 
for  my  age.  Like  my  father,  I  am  above  the  common 
stature  of  women.  We  continued  for  more  than  four  years 
longer  to  live  without  the  company  of  the  boys,  which 
caused  me  to  be  much  in  the  society  of  my  elders,  and  as 
much  at  the  manor-house  and  the  rectory  as  at  home.  At 
the  former  place  Sir  Christopher  loved  to  have  me  with  him 
all  day  long,  if  my  mother  would  suffer  it ;  when  he  walked 
in  his  garden  I  must  be  at  his  side.  When  he  awoke  after 
his  afternoon  sleep  he  liked  to  see  me  sitting  ready  to  talk 
to  him.  1  must  play  to  him  and  sing  to  him  ;  or  I  must 
bring  out  the  backgammon  board  ;  or  I  must  read  the  last 
letters  from  Robin  and  Humphrey.  Life  is  dull  for  an  old 
man  whose  friends  are  mostly  dead,  unless  he  have  the 
company  of  the  young.  So  David  in  his  old  age  took  to 
himself  a  young  wife,  when,  instead,  he  should  have  com- 
forted his  heart  \vith  the  play  and  prattle  of  his  grand- 
children— of  whom,  I  suppose,  there  must  have  been  many 
families. 

Now,  as  I  was  so  much  with  his  honor,  I  had  much  talk 
with  him  upon  things  on  which  wise  and  ancient  men  do 
not  often  converse  with  girls,  and  I  was  often  present  when 
he  discoursed  with  my  father  or  with  his  son-in-law,  the 
rector,  on  high  and  serious  matters.  It  was  a  time  of  great 
anxiety  and  uncertainty.  There  were  great  pope  burnings 
in  the  country  ;  and  when  some  were  put  in  pillory  for 
riot  at  these  bonfires  not  a  hand  was  lifted  against  them. 
They  had  one  at  Sherborne  on  November  17,  the  anniver- 
sary of  Queen  Elizabeth's  coronation  day,  instead  of  Novem- 
ber 5.  Boys  went  about  the  streets  asking  for  halfpence 
and  singing — 

'*  Up  with  the  ladder, 

And  down  with  the  rope  ; 
Give  us  a  penny 

To  burn  the  old  pope." 

There  were  riots  in  Taunton,  where  the  High-Church 
party  burned  the  pulpit  of  a  meeting-house  ;  people  went 
about  openly  saying  that  the  Roundheads  would  soon 
come  back  again.  From  Robin  we  heard  of  the  popish 
plots  and  the  flight  of  the  Duke  of  York,  and  afterwards  of 
Monmouth's  disgrace  and  e.xile.  At  all  the  market  towns 
where  men  gathered  together  they  talked  of  these  things. 


t2  FOR  FAITH  AND  FKEEDOkF. 

and  manywhispered  together  :  a  thing  which  Sir  ChristopheT 
loved  not,  because  it  spoke  of  conspiracies  and  secret  plots, 
whereas  he  was  all  for  bold  declaration  of  conscience. 

In  short,  it  was  an  anxious  time,  and  everybody  undei- 
stood  that  serious  things  would  happen  should  the  king  die. 
There  were  not  wanting,  besides,  omens  of  coming  ills — if 
you  accept  such  things  as  omens  or  warnings.  To  Taun- 
ton (afterwards  the  town  most  affected  by  the  Rebellion)  a 
plain  warniiiig  was  vouchsafed  by  the  rumbling  and  thun- 
dering and  shaking  of  the  earth  itself,  so  that  dishes  were 
knocked  down  and  cups  broken,  and  plaster  shaken  off  the 
walls  of  houses.  And  once  (this  did  I  myself  see  with  my 
own  eyes)  the  sun  rose  with  four  other  suns  for. com- 
panions— a  most  terrifying  sight,  though  Mr.  Boscorel,  who 
spoke  learnedly  on  omens,  had  an  explanation  of  this  mira- 
cle, which  he  said  was  due  to  natural  causes  alone.  And 
at  He  Brewers  there  was  a  monstrous  birth  of  two  girls  with 
but  one  body  from  the  breast  downwards  ;  their  names 
were  Aquila  and  Priscilla  ;  but  I  believe  they  lived  but  a 
short  time. 

I  needs  must  tell  of  Mr.  Boscorel  because  he  was  a  man 
the  like  of  whom  I  have  never  since  beheld.  I  believe 
there  can  be  few  men  such  as  he  was,  who  could  so  readily 
exchange  the  world  of  heat  and  argument  for  the  calm  and 
dispassionate  air  of  art  and  music.  Even  religion  (if  1  may 
venture  to  say  so)  seemed  of  less  importance  to  him  than 
airt  I  have  said  that  he  taught  me  to  play  upon  the  spin- 
net  Now  that  Humphrey  was  gone,  he  desired  my  com- 
pany every  day,  in  order,  he  pretended,  that  I  might  grow 
perfect  in  my  performance,  but  in  reality  because  he  was 
lonely  at  the  rectory,  and  found  pleasure  in  my  company. 
We  played  together — he  upon  the  violoncello  and  I  upon 
the  spinnet — such  music  as  he  chose.  It  was  sometimes 
grave  and  solemn  music,  such  as  Lulli's  "  Miserere  "  or 
his  "  De  Profundis  ;  "  sometimes  it  was  some  part  of  a 
Roman  Catholic  mass  :  then  was  my  soul  uplifted  and 
wafted  heavenwards  by  the  chords,  which  seemed  prayer 
and  praise  fit  for  the  angels  to  harp  before  the  throne. 
Sometimes  it  was  music  which  spoke  of  human  passions, 
when  I  would  be,  in  like  manner,  carried  out  of  myself. 
My  master  would  watch  not  only  my  execution,  commend- 
ing or  correcting,  but  he  would  also  watch  the  effect  of  the 
music  upon  my  mind. 

"We  are  ourselves,"  he  said,    "like  unto  the  instruments 
upon  which  we  play.     For  as  one  kind  of  instrument,    ats 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  63 

the  drum,  produces  but  one  note;  and  another,  as  the  cym- 
bals, but  a  clashing  which  is  in  itself  discordant,  but  made 
effective  in  a  band ;  so  others  are,  like  the  most  delicate  and 
sensitive  violins — those  of  Cremona — capable  of  producing 
the  finest  music  that  the  soul  of  man  hath  ever  devised. 
It  is  by  such  music,  child,  that  some  of  us  mount  unto 
heaven.  As  for  me,  indeed,  I  daily  feel  more  and  more 
that  music  leadeth  the  soul  upward,  and  that,  as  regards 
the  disputations  on  the  Word  of  God,  the  letter  indeed 
killeth,  but  the  spirit  which  music  helpeth  us  to  feel — the 
spirit,  I  say,  giveth  life."  He  sighed,  and  drew  his  bow 
gently  across  the  first  string  of  his  violoncello.  "  'Tis  a 
time  of  angry  argument.  The  Word  of  God  is  thrown  from 
one  to  the  other  as  a  pebble  is  shot  from  a  sling.  It  wearies 
me.  In  this  room,  among  these  books  of  music,  my  soul 
finds  rest,  and  the  spiritual  part  of  me  is  lifted  heaven- 
wards. Humphrey  and  you,  my  dear,  alone  can  compre- 
hend this  saying.  Thou  hast  a  mind  like  his,  to  feel  and 
understand  what  music  meaiis.  Listen!"  Here  he  exe- 
cuted a  piece  of  music  at  which  the  tears  rose  to  my  eyes. 
"That  is  from  the  Romish  mass  which  we  are  taught 
ignorantly  to  despise.  My  child,  I  am,  indeed,  no  Catholic, 
and  I  hold  that  ours  is  the  purer  church;  yet,  in  losing  the 
mass  we  have  lost  the  great  music  with  which  the  Catholics 
sustain  the  souls.  Some  of  our  anthems,  truly,  are  good; 
but  what  is  a  single  anthem,  finished  in  ten  minutes,  com- 
pared with  a  grand  mass  which  lasts  three  hours  ?" 

Then  he  had  portfolios  filled  with  engravings,  which  he 
would  bring  forth  and  contemplate  with  a  kind  of  rapture, 
discoursing  upon  the  engraver's  art  and  its  difficulties,  so 
that  I  should  not,  as  in  the  case  with  ignorant  persons,  sup- 
pose that  these  things  were  produced  without  much  training 
and  skill.  He  had  also  boxes  full  of  coins,  medals,  and 
transparent  gems  carved  most  delicately  with  heathen  gods 
and  goddesses,  shepherds  and  swains,  after  the  ancient 
fashion,  unclothed  and  unashamed.  On  these  things  he 
would  gaze  with  admiration  which  he  tried  to  teach  me, 
but  could  not,  because  I  caniiot  believe  that  we  may  with- 
out blame  look  upon  such  figures.  Nevertheless,  they  were 
most  beautiful,  the  hands  and  faces  and  the  very  hair  so 
delicately  and  exquisitely  carved  that  you  could  hardly  be- 
lieve it  possible.  And  he  talked  solemnly  and  scholarly  of 
these  gauds,  as  if  they  were  things  which  peculiarly  de- 
served the  attention  of  wise  and  learned  men.  Nay,  he 
would^'be  even  lifted  out  of  himself  in  considering  themu 


($4  POR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOAf. 

"Child,"  he  said,  "we  know  not,  and  we  cannot  even 
guess,  the  wonders  of  art  that  in  heaven  we  shall  learn  to 
accomplish  " — as  if  carving  and  painting  were  the  occupa- 
tion of  angels  ! — "  or  the  miracles  of  beauty  and  of  dexter- 
ity that  we  shall  be  able  to  design  and  execute.  Here,  the 
hand  is  clumsy  and  the  brain  is  dull  ;  we  cannot  rise  above 
ourselves  ;  we  are  blind  to  the  beauty  with  which  the  Lord 
hath  tilled  the  earth  for  the  solace  of  human  creatures. 
Nay  ;  we  are  not  even  tender  with  the  beauty  that  we  see 
and  love.  We  suffer  maidens  sweet  as  the  dreams  of 
poets  to  waste  their  beauty  unpraised  and  unsung.  I  am 
old,  child,  or  I  would  praise  thee  in  immortal  verse.  IMuch 
I  fear  that  thou  wilt  grow  old  without  the  praise  of  sweet 
numbers.  Well  ;  there  is  no  doubt  more  lasting  beauty  of 
face  and  figure  hereafter  to  joy  the  souls  of  the  elect.  And 
thou  wilt  make  his  happiness  for  one  man  on  earth.  Pray 
Heaven,  sweet  child,  that  he  look  also  to  thine  !  " 

He  would  say  such  things  with  so  grand  an  air,  speaking 
as  if  his  words  should  command  respect,  and  with  so  kindly 
an  eye  and  a  soft  smile,  while  he  gently  stroked  the  side  of 
his  nose,  which  was  long,  that  I  was  always  carried  away 
with  the  authority  of  it,  and  not  till  after  I  left  him  did  I  be- 
gin to  perceive  that  my  father  would  certainly  never  allow 
that  the  elect  should  occupy  themselves  with  the  frivolous 
pursuits  of  painting  and  the  fine  arts,  but  only  with  the 
playing  of  their  harps  and  the  singing  of  praises.  It  was 
this  consideration  which  caused  him  to  consent  that  his 
daughter  should  learn  the  spinnet.  I  did  not  tell  him  (God 
forgive  me  for  the  deceit,  if  there  was  any  !)  that  we  some- 
times played  music  written  for  the  mass  ;  nor  did  I  repeat 
what  Mr.  Boscorel  said  concerning  art  and  the  flinging 
about  of  the  Word  of  God,  because  my  father  was  wholly 
occupied  in  controversy,  and  his  principal,  if  not  his  only, 
weapon  was  the  Word  of  God. 

Another  pleasure  which  we  had  was  to  follow  Humphrey 
in  his  travels  by  the  aid  of  his  letters  and  a  7nappa  viiindi, 
or  atlas,  which  the  rector  possessed.  Then  I  remember 
when  we  heard  that  the  boys  were  ubout  to  ride  together 
through  France  from  Montpellier  to  Leyden  in  Holland,  we 
had  on  the  table  the  great  map  of  France.  There  were 
many  drawings,  coats-of-arms,  and  other  pretty  things  on 
the  map. 

"It  is  now,  '  said  Mr.  Boscorel,  finding  out  the  place  he 
wanted,  and  keeping  his  forefinger  upon  it,  "nearly  thirty 
jrears  since  I  made  the  grand  tour,  being  then  governor  tO 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  65 

the  young  Lord  Silchesier  who  afterwards  died  of  the  plague 
in  London.  Else  had  I  been  now  a  bishop,  who  am  forgotten 
in  this  little  place.  The  boys  will  ride,  I  take  it,  by  the 
same  road  which  we  took  ;  first,  because  it  is  the  high-road 
and  the  safest  ;  next,  because  it  is  the  best  provided  with 
inns  and  resting-places  ;  and,  lastly,  because  it  passes 
through  the  best  part  of  his  most  Christian  majesty's  domin- 
ions, and  carries  the  traveller  through  his  finest  and  most 
stately  cities.  From  Montpellier  they  will  ride — follow  my 
finger,  child — to  Nismes.  Before  the  Revocation  it  was  a 
great  place  for  those  of  the  Reformed  religion,  and  a  popu- 
lous town.  Here  they  will  not  fail  to  visit  the  Roman 
temple  which  still  stands.  It  is  not,  indeed,  such  a  noble 
monument  as  one  may  see  in  Rome  ;  but  it  is  in  good  pres- 
ervation, and  a  fair  example  of  the  later  style.  They  will 
also  visit  the  great  amphitheatre,  which  should  be  cleared 
of  the  mean  houses  which  are  now  built  up  within  it,  and 
so  exposed  in  all  its  vastness  to  the  admiration  of  the  world. 
After  seeing  these  things  they  will  direct  their  way  across  a 
desolate  piece  of  country  to  Avignon,  passing  on  the  way 
the  ancient  Roman  aqueduct  called  the  Pont  de  Gard.  At 
Avignon  they  will  admire  the  many  churches  and  the  walls, 
and  will  not  fail  to  visit  the  Palace  of  the  Popes  during  the 
Great  Schism.  Thence  they  will  ride  northwards,  unless  they 
wish  first  to  see  the  Roman  remains  at  Aries.  Thence  will 
they  proceed  up  the  valley  of  the  Rhone,  through  many 
stately  towns,  till  they  come  to  Lyons,  where,  doubtless 
they  will  sojourn  for  a  few  dayi.  Next  they  will  journey 
through  the  rich  country  of  Burgundy,  and  from  the  ancient 
town  of  Dijon  will  reach  Paris  through  the  city  of  Fontaine- 
bleau.  On  the  way  they  will  see  many  windo'vs,  noble 
houses  and  castles,  with  rich  towns  and  splendid  churches. 
In  no  country  are  there  more  splendid  churches,  built 
in  the  Gothic  style,  which  we  have  now  forgotten.  Some 
of  them,  alas  !  have  been  defaced  in  the  wars  (so-called  of  re- 
ligion), where,  as  happened  also  to  us,  the  delicate  carved 
work,  the  scrolls  and  flowers  and  statues  were  destroyed, 
and  the  painted  windows  broken.  Alas  I  that  men  should 
refuse  to  suffer  art  to  become  the  minister  and  handmaid  of 
religion  !  Yet  in  the  first  and  most  glorious  temple  in 
which  the  glory  of  the  Lord  was  visibly  present,  there  were 
carved  and  graven  lilies,  with  lions,  oxen,  chariots,  cheru- 
bim, palm-trees,  and  pomej^-ranalcs. "' 

He  closed  his  atlas  and  sat  down. 

"Child,"  he  said,    meditating.      "For  a  scholar,  in  his 


^5  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

youth,  there  is  no  pleasure  comparable  with  the  pleasure  of 
travelling  in  strange  countries,  among  the  monuments  of 
ancient  days.  My  own  son  did  never,  to  my  sorrow,  de- 
sire the  pleasant  paths  of  learning,  and  did  never  show  any 
love  for  the  arts,  in  which  I  have  always  taken  so  great  de- 
light. He  desireth  rather  the  companionship  of  men  ;  he 
loveth  to  drink  and  sing  ;  and  he  nourisheth  a  huge  ambi- 
tion. 'Tis  best  that  we  are  not  all  alike.  Humphrey  should 
have  been  my  son.  Forget  not,  my  child,  that  he  hath 
desired  to  be  remembered  to  thee  in  every  letter  which  he 
hath  written." 

If  the  rector  spoke  much  of  Humphrey,  madam  made 
amends  by  talking  continually  of  Robin,  and  of  the  great 
things  that  he  would  do  when  he  returned  home.  Justice 
of  the  peace,  that  he  would  certainly  be  made  ;  captain  first 
and  afterwards  colonel  in  the  Somerset  Militia,  that  also 
should  he  be;  knight  of  the  shire,  if  he  were  ambitious — but 
that  I  knew  he  would  never  be  ;  high  sheriff  of  the  county, 
if  his  slender  means  permitted^ — for  the  estate  was  not  worth 
more  than  six  or  seven  hundred  pounds  a  year.  Perhaps 
he  would  marry  an  heiress  :  it  would  be  greatly  to  the  ad- 
vantage of  the  family  if  an  heiress  were  to  come  into  it  with 
broad  acres  of  her  own  ;  but  she  was  not  a  woman  who 
would  seek  to  control  her  son  in  the  matter  of  his  affections, 
and  if  he  chose  a  girl  with  no  fortune  to  her  back,  if  she 
was  a  good  girl  and  pious,  madam  would  never  say  him 
nay.  And  he  would  soon  return.  The  boy  had  been  at 
Oxford  and  next  in  London,  learning  law,  such  as  justices 
require.  He  was  now  with  Humphrey  at  the  University  of 
Leyden,  doubtless  learning  more  law. 

"My  dear,"  said  madam,  "we  want  him  home.  His 
grandfather  groweth  old,  though  still,  thank  God,  in  the 
full  possession  of  his  faculties.  Yet  a  young  maa's  pres- 
ence is  needed.  I  trust  and  pray  that  he  will  return  as  he 
went,  innocent,  in  spite  of  the  many  temptations  of  the 
wicked  city.  And,  oh  !  child — what  if  he  should  have  lost 
his  heart  to  some  designing  city  hussy  !  " 

He  came — as  ye  shall  hear  immediately — Robin  came 
kome.  Would  to  God  that  he  had  waited,  if  only  for  a 
single  month  !  Had  he  not  come  all  our  afflictions  would 
have  been  spared  us  !  Had  he  not  come  that  good  old  man 
Sir  Christopher — but  it  is  vain  to  imagine  what  might  have 
been.  We  are  in  the  hands  of  the  Lord  ;  nothing  that  hap- 
pens to  us  is  permitted  but  by  him,  and  for  some  wise  pur- 
pose was  Sir  Christopher  in  his  old  age — alas  1  why  should 
anticipate  what  I  have  to  narrate  .? 


}<0R  h-AITJI  AND  FREEDOM. 


CHAPTER  X 

LE    ROY    EST   MORT. 

In  February  of  the  year  1685  King  Charles  II.  died. 

Sir  Christopher  himself  brought  us  the  news  from  Sher- 
borne, whither  he  had  gone,  as  was  his  wont,  to  the  weekly 
ordinary.  He  clattered  up  the  lane  on  his  cob,  and  halted 
at  our  gate. 

"Call  thy  father,  child.  Give  you  good-day,  Madam 
Eykin.  Will  your  husband  leave  his  books  and  come  forth 
for  a  moment?     Tell  him  I  have  news." 

My  father  rose  and  obeyed.  His  gown  was  in  rags  ;  his 
feet  were  clad  in  cloth  shoon,  which  I  worked  for  him  ;  his 
cheek  was  wasted;  but  his  eye  was  keen.  He  was  lean 
and  tall ;  his  hair  was  as  white  as  Sir  Christopher's,  though 
he  was  full  twenty  years  younger. 

•'Friend  and  gossip,"  said  Sir  Christopher,  "  the  king  is 
dead. " 

"Is  Charles  Stewart  dead.?"  my  father  replied.  "He 
cumbered  the  earth  too  long.  For  five-and-twenty  years 
hath  he  persecuted  the  saints.  Also  he  hath  burnt  incense 
after  the  abomination  of  the  heathen.  Let  his  lot  be  as  the 
lot  of  Ahaz." 

"  Nay  ;  he  is  buried  by  this  time.  His  brother  the  Duke 
of  York  hath  been  proclaimed  king." 

"James  the  Papist  It  is  as  though  Manasseh  should 
succeed  to  Ahaz.     And  after  him  Jehoiakim. " 

*•  Yet  the  bells  will  ring  and  we  shall  pray  for  the  king  ; 
and  wise  men,  Friend  Eykin,  will  do  well  to  keep  silence." 

"  There  is  a  time  to  speak  and  a  time  to  keep  silence.  It 
may  be  that  the  time  is  at  hand  when  a  godly  man  must 
stretch  forth  his  hand  to  tear  down  the  Scarlet  Woman, 
though  she  slay  him  in  the  attempt." 

"It  may  be  so,  friend  Eykin  ;  yet  stretch  not  forth  thy 
hand  until  thou  art  well  assured  of  the  divine  command. 
The  king  is  dead.  Now  will  my  son-in-law  ring  out  the 
bells  for  the  new  king,  and  we  shall  pray  for  him,  as  we 
prayed  for  his  brother.  It  is  our  duty  to  pray  for  all  in  au- 
thority,   though    to   the  prayers   of   a  whole  nation   there 


It  tOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM, 

seemeth,  so  far  as  human  reason  can  perceive,  no  answer  * 

"  I,  for  one,  will  pray  no  more  for  a  king  who  is  a  papist 
Rather  will  I  pray  daily  for  his  overthrow." 

"  King  Charles  is  said  to  have  received  a  priest  before  he 
died.  Yet  it  is  worse  that  the  king  should  be  an  open  than 
a  secret  Catholic.  Let  us  be  patient.  Dr.  Eykin,  and  await 
the  time." 

So  he  rode  up  the  village,  and  presently  the  bells  were 
set  a-ringing,  and  they  clashed  as  joyously,  echoing  around 
the  Corton  Hills,  as  if  the  accession  of  King  James  II.  was 
the  only  thing  wanted  to  make  the  nation  prosperous, 
happy,  and  religious. 

My  father  stood  at  the  gate  after  Sir  Christopher  left  him. 
The  wind  was  cold,  and  the  twilight  was  falling  and  his  cas- 
sock was  thin,  but  he  remained  there  motionless,  until  my 
mother  went  out  and  drew  him  back  to  the  house  by  the 
arm.  He  went  into  his  own  room,  but  he  read  no  more 
that  day. 

In  the  evening  he  came  forth  and  sat  with  us,  and  while 
I  sat  sewing,  my  mother  spinning,  by  the  light  of  the  fire, 
he  discoursed,  which  was  unusual  with  him,  upon  things 
and  peoples  and  the  best  form  of  government,  which  he 
held  to  be  a  commonwealth,  with  a  strong  man  for  presi- 
dent. But  he  was  to  hold  his  power  from  the  people,  and 
was  to  lay  it  down  frequently,  lest  he  should  in  his  turn  be 
tempted  to  become  a  king.  And  if  he  were  to  fall  away 
from  righteousness,  or  to  live  in  open  sin,  or  to  be  a  merry- 
maker, or  to  suffer  his  country  to  fall  from  a  high  place 
among  the  nations,  he  was  to  be  displaced,  and  be  forced 
to  retire.  As  for  the  man  Charles,  now  dead,  he  would  be- 
come, my  father  said,  an  example  to  all  future  ages,  and  a 
warning  of  what  may  happen  when  the  doctrine  of  Divine 
Right  is  generally  accepted  and  acted  upon  ;  the  king  him- 
self being  not  so  much  blamed  by  him  as  the  practice  of 
hereditary  rule  which  caused  him  to  be  seated  upon  the 
throne,  when  his  true  place,  my  father  said,  was  among  the 
lackeys  and  varlets  of  the  palace.  "His  brother  James," 
he  added,  "had  now  an  opportunity  which  occurred  to  few 
• — for  he  might  become  another  Josiah.  But  I  think  he  will 
neglect  that  opportunity,"  he  concluded  ;  "yea,  even  if  Hil- 
kiah  the  Priest  were  to  bring  him  a  message  from  Huldah 
the  Prophetess  ;  for  he  doth  belong  to  a  family  which,  by 
the  divine  displeasure,  can  never  perceive  the  truth.  Let 
us  now  read  the  Word,  and  wrestle  with  the  Lord  iu 
prayer. " 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  5^ 

Next  we  heard  that  loyal  addresses  were  poured  in  from 
all  quarters  congratulating  the  king,  and  promising  most 
submissive  obedience.  One  would  have  thought  that  the 
people  were  rejoiced  at  the  succession  of  a  Roman  Catholic  ; 
it  was  said  that  the  king  had  promised  liberty  of  conscience 
unto  all  ;  that  he  claimed  that  liberty  for  himself,  and  that 
he  went  to  mass  daily  and  openly. 

But  many  there  were  who  foresaw  trouble.  Unfortunately, 
one  of  them  was  Sir  Christopher,  who  spoke  his  mind  at  all 
times  too  fiercely  for  his  safety.  IMr.  Boscorel,  also,  was  of 
opinion  that  civil  war  would  speedily  ensue. 

"  The  kings  friends,"  he  said,  "  may  for  a  time  buy  the 
support  of  the  Noncomformists,  and  make  a  show  of  re- 
ligious liberty.  Thus  may  they  govern  for  a  while.  But  it 
is  not  in  the  nature  of  the  Roman  Catholic  priest  to  coun- 
tenance religious  liberty,  or  to  sit  down  contented  with  less 
than  all  the  pie.  They  must  forever  scheme  and  intrigue 
for  more  power.  Religious  liberty  .?  It  means  to  them  the 
eternal  damnation  of  those  who  hold  themselves  free  to 
think  for  themselves.  They  would  be  less  than  human  if 
they  did  not  try  to  save  the  souls  of  the  people  by  docking 
their  freedom.  They  must  make  this  country  even  as 
Spain  or  Italy.  Is  it  to  be  believed  that  they  will  suffer  the 
Church  to  retain  her  revenues,  or  the  universities  to  remain 
out  of  their  control  ?  Nay,  will  they  allow  the  grammar 
schools  to  be  in  the  hands  of  Protestants .'  Never  !  The 
next  generation  will  be  wholly  CathoUc,  imless  the  present 
generation  send  king  and  priests  packing." 

These  were  treasonable  words,  but  they  were  uttered  in 
the  hall  of  the  manor-house  with  no  other  listeners  than  Sir 
Christopher  and  the  rector. 

"Seeing  these  things,  son-in-law, "  said  Sir  Christopher, 
"what  becomes  of  Right  Divine.'  Where  is  the  duty  of 
non-resistance  !  " 

"The  doctrine  of  Right  Divine,  "said  Mr.  Boscorel,  "in- 
cludes the  divine  institutic)n  of  a  monarchy,  which,  I  con- 
fes8,  is  manifestly  untenable,  because  the  Lord  granted  a 
king  to  the  people  only  because  they  clamored  for  one. 
Also,  had  the  institution  been  of  divine  foundation,  the  Jews 
would  never  have  been  allowed  to  live  under  the  rule  of 
judges,  tetrarchs,  and  Roman  governors." 

"You  have  not  always  spoken  so  plainly,"  said  Sir 
Christopher. 

"Nay;  why  be  always  proclaiming  to  the  world  your 
thoug;hts   and  opinions.''     Besides,    even  if  the  doctrine  of 


JO  ^OR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

non-resistance  were  sound,  there  may  be  cases  in  whicVj 
just  laws  may  be  justly  set  aside.  I  say  not  that  this  is 
one,  as  yet.  But  if  there  were  danger  of  the  ancient  super- 
stitions being  thrust  upon  us  to  the  destruction  of  our  souls, 
I  say  not.  Nay  ;  if  a  starving-  man  take  a  loaf  of  bread, 
there  being  no  other  way  possible  to  save  his  life,  one  would 
not,  therefore,  hold  him  a  thief.     Yet  the  law  remains." 

"Shall  the  blood  which  hath  been  poured  out  for  the 
cause  of  liberty  prove  to  be  shed  in  vain  ? "  asked  Sir  Chris- 
topher." 

"Why,  sir,"  said  the  rector,  "  the  same  question  might  be 
asked  in  France,  where  the  Protestants  fought  longer  and 
against  greater  odds  than  we  in  this  country.  Yet  the  blood 
of  those  martyrs  hath  been  shed  in  vain  ;  the  Church  of 
Rome  is  there  the  conqueror  indeed.  It  is  laid  upon  the 
Protestants,  even  upon  us,  who  hold  that  we  are  a  true 
branch  of  the  ancient  Apostolic  Church,  to  defend  ourselves 
continually  against  an  enemy  who  is  always  at  unity, 
always  guided  by  one  man,  always  knows  what  he  ■wants, 
and  is  always  working  to  get  it.  We,  on  the  other  hand,  do 
not  know  our  own  minds,  and  must  forever  be  quarrelling 
among  ourselves.  Nevertheless,  the  heart  of  the  country  is 
Protestant  ;  and  sooner  or  later  the  case  of  conscience  may 
arise  whether — the  law  remaining  unchanged — we  may  not 
blamelessly  break  the  law?  " 

That  case  of  conscience  was  not  yet  ripe  for  considera- 
tion. There  needed  first  many  things — including  the  mar- 
tyrdom of  saints  and  innocent  men  and  poor,  ignorant  rus- 
tics— before  the  country  roused  herself  once  more  to  seize 
her  liberties.  Then  as  to  that  poor  doctrine  of  Divine 
Right,  they  all  made  a  mouthful  of  it,  except  only  a  small 
and  harmless  band  of  nonjurors. 

At  the  outset,  whatever  the  opinions  of  the  people — who 
could  have  been  made  to  rise  as  one  man — the  gentry  re- 
mained loyal.  Above  all  things,  they  dreaded  another  civil 
war. 

*' We  must  fain  accept  the  king's  professions,"  said  the 
rector.  "If  we  have  misgivings,  let  us  disguise  them. 
Let  us  rather  nourish  the  hope  that  they  are  honestly  meant ; 
and  let  us  wait.  England  will  not  become  another  Spain 
in  a  single  day.  Let  us  wait.  The  stake  is  not  yet  set  up 
in  Smithfield,  and  the  Inquisition  is  not  yet  established  in 
the  country." 

It  was  in  this  temper  that  the  king's  accession  found  Sit 
Christopher.     Afterwards  ho   was   accused  of  having  har* 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  7! 

bored  designs  against  the  king  from  the  beginning.  That, 
indeed,  was  not  the  case.  He  had  no  thought  of  entering 
into  any  such  enterprise.  Yet  he  never  doubted  that  in  the 
end  there  would  be  an  uprising  against  the  rule  of  the  priests. 
Nor  did  he  doubt  that  the  king  would  be  pushed  on  by  his 
advisers  to  one  pretension  after  another  for  the  advance- 
ment of  his  own  prerogative  and  the  displacement  of  the 
Protestant  Church.  Nay,  he  openly  predicted  that  there 
would  be  such  attempts  ;  and  he  maintained — such  was  his 
wisdom — that,  in  the  long  run,  the  Protestant  faith  would 
beestablished  upon  a  surer  foundation  than  ever.  But  as  for 
conspiring  or  being  cognizant  of  any  conspiracy,  that  was 
untrue.  Why,  he  was  at  this  time  seventy-five  years  of  age 
— a  time  when  such  men  as  Sir  Christopher  have  continual- 
ly before  their  eyes  death  and  the  judgment. 

As  for  my  father,  perhaps  I  am  wrong,  but  in  the  daily 
prayers  of  night  and  morning,  and  in  the  "Grace  before 
meat,"  he  seemed  to  find  a  freer  utterance,  and  to  wrestle 
more  vehemently  than  was  his  wont  on  the  subject  of  the 
Scarlet  Woman,  offering  himself  as  a  willing  martyr  and 
confessor,  if  by  the  shedding  of  his  blood  the  great  day  of 
her  final  overthrow  might  be  advanced  ;  yet  always  humble, 
not  daring  to  think  of  himself  as  anything  but  an  instru- 
ment to  do  the  will  of  his  Master.  In  the  end,  his  death 
truly  helped,  with  others,  to  bring  a  Protestant  king  to  the 
throne  of  these  isles.  And  since  we  knew  him  to  be  so 
deep  a  scholar,  always  reading  and  learning,  and  in  no 
sense  a  man  of  activity,  the  thing  which  he  presently  did 
amazed  us  all.  Yet  we  ought  to  have  known  that  one  who 
is  under  the  divine  command  to  preach  the  Word  of  God, 
and  hath  been  silenced  by  man  for  more  than  twenty  years, 
so  that  the  strength  of  his  manhood  hath  run  to  waste  and 
is  lost — it  is  a  most  terrible  and  grievous  thing  for  a  man  to 
be  condemned  to  idleness — may  become  like  unto  one  of 
those  burning  mountains  of  which  we  sometimes  read  in 
books  of  voyages.  In  him,  as  in  them,  the  inner  fires  rage 
and  burn,  growing  ever  stronger  and  fiercer,  until  presently 
they  rend  asunder  the  sides  of  the  mountain  and  burst  forth, 
pouring  down  liquid  fire  over  the  unhappy  valleys  beneath, 
with  showers  of  red-hot  ashes  to  destroy  and  cover  up  the 
smiling  homesteads  and  the  fertile  meadows. 

It  is  true  that  my  father  chafed  continually  at  the  inaction 
forced  upon  him,  but  his  impatience  was  never  so  strong  «s 
at  this  time,  namely,  after  the  accession  of  King  James.  It 
drove  him  from  his  books  jind  out  iiUo  the  fields  and  lanes. 


tj2  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

where  he  walked  to  and  fro,  waving  his  long  arms,  and 
someti^oes  crying  aloud  and  shouting  in  the  woods,  as  if 
compelled  to  cry  out  in  order  to  quench  some  raging  fever 
or  heat  of  his  mind. 

About  this  time,  too,  I  remember,  they  began  to  talk  of 
the  exiles  in  Holland,  The  Duke  of  Monmouth  was  there 
with -the  Earl  of  Argyle,  and  with  them  a  company  of  fire- 
brands eager  to  get  back  to  England  and  their  property. 

I  am  certain  now  that  my  father  (and  perhaps  through 
his  information.  Sir  Christopher  also)  was  kept  acquainted 
with  the  plots  and  designs  that  were  carried  on  in  the  Low 
Countries.  Nay  ;  I  am  also  certain  that  his  informant  was 
none  other  than  Humphrey,  who  was  still  in  Leyden.  I 
have  seen  a  letter  from  him,  written,  as  I  now  understand, 
in  a  kind  of  allegory  or  parable,  in  which  one  thing  was  said 
and  another  meant.  Thus,  he  pretends  to  speak  of  Dutch 
gardening  :  "  The  gardeners,"  he  says,  "  take  infinite  pains 
that  their  secrets  shall  not  be  learned  or  disclosed.  I  know, 
however,  that  a  certain  blue  tulip  much  desired  by  many 
gardeners  in  England,  will  be  taken  across  the  waters  this 
year,  and  I  hope  that  by  next  year  the  precious  bulb  may 
be  fully  planted  in  English  soil.  The  preparation  of  the 
soil  necessary  for  the  favorable  reception  of  the  bulb  is  well 
known  to  you,  and  you  will  understand  how  to  mix  your 
soil  and  to  add  manure  and  so  forth.  I  myself  expect  to 
finish  what  I  have  to  do  in  a  few  weeks,  when  I  shall  cross 
to  London,  and  so  ride  westwards,  and  hope  to  pay  my 
respects  to  my  revered  tutor  in  the  month  of  June  next.  It 
may  be  that  I  shall  come  with  the  tulip,  but  that  is  not 
certain.  Many  messages  have  been  received  offering  large 
sums  of  money  for  the  bulb,  so  that  it  is  hoped  that  tlie 
Dutch  gardeners  will  let  it  go. — From  H.  C. " 

The  tulip,  you  see,  was  the  Duke  of  IVIonmouth,  and  the 
Dutch  gardeners  were  the  Scotch  and  English  exiles  then  in 
Holland,  and  the  English  gardeners  were  the  duke's  friends, 
and  H.  C.  was  Humphrey  Challis. 

I  think  that  Sir  Christopher  must  have  known  of  this  cor- 
respondence, because  I  now  remember  that  my  father  would 
sit  with  him  for  many  hours  looking  at  a  map  of  England, 
and  had  been  conversing  earnestly,  and  making  notes  in  a 
book.  These  n:tes  he  made  in  the  Arabic  character,  which 
no  one  but  himself  could  read.  I  therefore  suppose  that  he 
was  estimating  the  number  of  Nonconformists  who  might 
be  disposed  to  aid  in  such  an  enterprise  as  Humphrey'* 
"gardeners"  were  contemplating. 


FOR  FAITH  Aj\'D  FREEDOM. 


n 


Robin,  who  certainly  was  no  conspirator,  also  wrote  a 
letter  from  Leyclen  about  this  time  saying  that  something 
was  expected,  nobody  knew  what ;  but  that  the  exiles  were 
meeting  constantly,  as  if  something  were  brewing. 

It  was  about  the  first  week  in  June  that  the  news  came  to 
us  of  Lord  Argyle's  landing.  This  was  the  beginning. 
After  that,  as  you  will  hear,  the  news  came  thick  and  fast  ; 
every  day  som  ^thing  fresh,  and  something  to  quicken  the 
most  sluggish  pulse.  To  me,  at  least,  it  seemed  as  if  the 
breath  of  God  himself  was  poured  out  upon  the  country, 
and  that  the  people  were  everywhere  resolved  to  banish  the 
accursed  thing  from  their  midst.  Alas  !  that  simple  country 
maid  was  deceived  !  The  accursed  thing  was  to  be  driven 
forth,  but  not  yet.  The  country  party  hated  the  pope,  but 
they  dreaded  civil  war ;  and,  indeed,  there  is  hardly  any 
excuse  for  that  most  dreadful  scourge,  except  the  salvation 
of  the  soul  and  the  safeguarding  of  liberties.  They  would 
gladly  welcome  a  rising,  but  it  must  be  general  and  uni- 
versal. They  had  for  five-and-twenty  years  been  taught 
the  wickedness  of  rebellion,  and  now  there  was  no  way  to 
secure  the  Protestant  faith  except  by  rebellion.  Unhappily, 
the  rebellion  began  before  the  country  gentlemen  were 
ready  to  begin. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

BEFORE      THE      STORM. 

Before  the  storm  breaks  there  sometimes  falls  upon  the 
e<irth  a  brief  time  when  the  sun  shines  in  splendor  from  a 
clear  sky.  The  air  is  balmy  and  delightsome,  the  birds  sing 
in  the  coppice,  and  the  innocent  lambs  leap  in  the  meadows. 
Then,  suddenly,  black  clouds  gather  from  the  north  ;  the 
wind  blows  cold  ;  in  a  minute  the  sky  is  black  ;  the  light- 
nings flash,  the  thunders  roll,  the  wind  roars,  the  hail  beats 
down  and  strips  the  orchard  of  its  promise,  and  silences 
the  birds  cowering  in  the  branches,  and  drives  the  trem- 
bling sheep  to  take  shelter  in  the  hedges. 

This  was  to  be  my  case.  You  shall  understand  how  for 
a  single  day — it  was  no  more — I  was  the  happiest  girl  in  all 
the  world 

I  may  without  any  shime  confess  that  I  have  always 


r4 


POR  t'Alrir  AND  FREEDOM. 


loved  Robin  from  my  earliest  childhood.  That  was  no  great 
wonder,  seeing  what  manner  of  boy  he  was,  and  how  he 
was  always  kind  and  thoughtful  for  me.  We  were  at  first 
only  brother  and  sister  together,  which  is  natural  and  rea- 
sonable when  children  grow  up  together ;  nor  can  I  tell 
when  or  how  we  ceased  to  be  brother  and  sister,  save  that 
it  may  have  been  when  Robin  kissed  me  so  tenderly  at 
parting,  and  told  me  that  he  should  always  love  me.  I  do 
n<^t  think  that  brothers  do  generaly  protestlove  and  promise 
continual  affection.  Barnaby  certainly  never  declared  his 
love  for  me,  nor  did  he  ever  promise  to  love  me  all  his  life. 
Perhaps,  had  he  remained  longer,  he  might  have  become  as 
tender  as  he  was  good-hearted  ;  but  I  think  that  tenderness 
towards  a  sister  is  not  in  the  nature  of  a  boy.  I  loved 
Robin,  and  I  loved  Humphrey,  both  as  if  they  were 
brothers  ;  but  one  of  them  ceased  to  be  my  brother,  while 
the  other,  in  consequence,  remained  my  brother  always. 

A  girl  may  be  ignorant  of  the  world  as  I  was,  and  of 
lovers  and  their  ways  as  I  was,  and  yet  she  cannot  grow  from 
a  child  to  a  woman  without  knowing  that  when  a  young  man 
who  hath  promised  to  love  her  always,  speaks  of  her  in 
every  letter,  he  means  more  than  common  brotherly  love. 
Nor  can  any  woman  be  indifferent  to  a  man  who  thus  re- 
gards her ;  nor  can  she  think  upon  love  without  the  desire 
of  being  herself  loved.  Truly,  I  had  always  before  my  eyes 
the  spectacle  of  that  holy  love  which  consecrates  every  part 
of  life.  I  mean  in  the  case  of  my  mother,  whose  waking 
and  sleeping  thoughts  were  all  for  her  husband  ;  who 
worked  continually  and  cheerfully  with  her  hands  that  he 
might  be  enabled  to  study  without  other  work,  and  gave  up 
her  whole  life,  without  grudging — even  reckoning  it  her 
happiness  and  his  privilege — in  order  to  provide  food  and 
shelter  for  him.  It  was  enough  reward  for  her  that  he 
should  sometimes  lay  his  hand  lovingly  upon  her  head,  or 
turn  his  eyes  with  affection  to  meet  hers. 

It  was  the  night  of  June  12,  as  I  lay  in  bed,  not  yet 
asleep,  though  it  was  already  past  nine  o'clock,  that  I  heard 
the  trampling  of  hoofs  crossing  the  stream  and  passing  our 
cottage.  Had  I  known  who  were  riding  those  horses  there 
would  have  been  but  little  sleep  for  me  that  night.  But  I 
knew  not,  and  did  not  suspect,  and  so,  supposing  that  it 
was  only  one  of  the  farmers  belated,  I  closed  my  eyes,  and 
presently  slept  until  the  morning. 

About  five  o'clock,  or  a  little  before  that  time,  I  awoke, 
the  sun  having  already  arisen,   and  being  now  well  above 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  7j 

the  hill.  I  arose  softly,  leaving  my  mother  asleep  still, 
and,  having  dressed  quckly,  and  prayed  a  little,  I  crepl 
softly  down  the  stairs.  In  the  house  there  was  such  a  stillness 
that  I  could  even  hear  the  regular  breathing  of  my  father  as 
he  slept  upon  his  pallet  among  his  books  ;  it  was  chill  and 
damp  (as  is  the  custom  in  the  early  morning)in  the  room 
where  we  lived  and  worked.  Yet,  when  I  threw  open  door 
and  shutter  and  looked  outside,  the  air  was  full  of  warmth 
and  refreshment ;  as  for  the  birds,  they  had  long  since  left 
their  nests,  and  now  were  busy  looking  for  their  breakfast  ; 
the  larks  were  singing  overhead,  and  the  bees  already  hum- 
ming and  droning.  Who  would  lie  abed  when  he  could  get  up 
and  enjoy  the  beauty  of  the  morning?  When  I  had  breathed 
awhile,  with  pleasure  and  satisfaction,  the  soft  air,  which 
was  laden  with  the  scent  of  flowers  and  of  hay,  I  went  in- 
doors again,  and  swept  and  dusted  the  room.  Then  I 
opened  the  cupboard,  and  considered  the  provision  for 
breakfast.  For  my  father  there  would  be  a  slice  of  cold 
bacon  with  a  good  crust  of  homemade  bread  (better  bread  or 
sweeter  was  nowhere  to  be  had)  and  a  cup  of  cidei;  unarm- 
ing to  the  spirits  and  good,  for  one  who  is  no  longer  young, 
against  any  rawness  of  the  morning  air.  For  my  mother 
and  myself  there  would  be,  as  soon  as  our  neighbors'  cows 
were  milked,  a  cup  of  warm  milk  and  bread  soaked  in  it 
'Tis  a  breakfast  good  for  a  grown  person  as  well  as  for  a 
child,  and  it  cost  us  nothing  but  the  trouble  of  going  to 
take  it. 

When  I  had  swept  the  room  and  laid  everything  in  its 
place  I  went  into  the  garden,  hoe  in  hand,  to  weed  the  beds 
and  trim  the  borders.  The  garden  was  not  very  big,  it  is 
true,  but  it  produced  many  things  useful  for  us  ;  notably 
onions  and  sallet,  besides  many  herbs  good  for  the  house, 
for  it  was  a  fertile  strip  of  ground,  and  planted  in  every 
part  of  it  Now,  such  was  the  beauty  of  the  morning  and 
the  softness  of  the  air  that  I  presently  forgot  the  work 
about  which  I  had  come  into  the  garden,  and  sat  down  in 
the  shade  upon  a  bench,  suffering  my  thoughts  to  wander 
hither  and  thither.  Much  have  I  always  pitied  those  poor 
folk  in  towns  who  can  never  escape  from  the  noise  and 
clatter  of  tongues,  and  sit  somewhere  in  the  sunshine  or 
the  shade,  while  the  cattle  low  in  the  meadows  and  the 
summer  air  makes  the  leaves  to  rustle,  and  suffer  their 
thoughts  to  wander  here  and  there.  Every  morning  when 
I  arose  was  this  spectacle  of  nature's  gladness  presented  to 
my  e^es.  but  not   every  moniing  could  my  spirit  (which 


j6  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

sometimes  crawls  as  if  fearing  the  light  of  day  and  the  face 
of  the  sun)  rise  to  meet  and  greet  it,  and  to  feel  it  calling 
aloud  for  a  hymn  of  praise  and  thanksgiving.  For,  indeed, 
this  is  a  beautiful  world  if  we  could  always  suffer  its  lovli- 
ness  (which  we  cannot  for  the  earthliness  of  our  natures)  to 
sink  into  our  hearts.  I  know  not  what  I  thought  this  morn- 
ing ;  but  I  remember,  while  I  considered  the  birds,  which 
neither  reap  nor  sow,  nor  take  any  thought  of  to-morrow, 
yet  are  daily  fed  by  Heaven,  that  the  words  were  whispered 
HI  mine  ear,  "  Are  ye  not  much  better  than  they.?  "  And  this, 
without  doubt,  prepared  my  heart  for  what  should  follow. 

While  I  sat  thinking  of  I  know  not  what,  there  came  foot- 
steps— quick  footsteps — along  the  road  ;  and  I  knew  those 
footsteps,  and  sprang  to  my  feet,  and  ran  to  the  garden- 
gate  crying  "Robin  ! — it  is  Robin  !  '.' 

Yes  ;  it  was  Robin. 

He  seized  me  by  both  hands,  looking  in  my  face  curiously 
and  eagerly. 

"Grace!"  he  said,  drawing  a  deep  breath;  "Oh!  but 
what  hath  happened  to  thee  .?  " 

"  What  should  happen  Robin  .? " 

"  Oh  !  thou  art  changed,  Grace  !  I  left  thee  almost  a  child, 
and  now — now — I  thought  to  catch  thee  in  my  arms — a 
sweet  rustic  nymph — and  now — fain  must  I  go  upon  my 
knees  to  a  goddess." 

"Robin!"  Who,  indeed,  would  have  expected  such 
language  from  Robin  } 

"Grace,"  he  said,  still  gazing  upon  me  with  a  kind  of 
wonder  which  made  me  blush,  "  do  you  remember  when 
we  parted,  four  years  ago,  the  words  we  said  .?  As  for  me, 
I  have  never  forgotten  them.  I  was  to  think  of  thee  always  ;, 
1  was  to  love  thee  always.  Truly  I  may  say  that  there  is 
never  a  day  but  thou  hast  been  in  my  mind.  But  not  like 
this. "  He  continued  to  look  upon  me  as  upon  some  strange 
creature,  so  that  I  began  to  be  frightened,  and  turned  away. 

"Nay,  Grace,  forgive  me.  I  am  one  who  is  dazzled  by 
the  splendor  of  the  sun.  Forgive  me  ;  I  cannot  speak.  I 
thought  of  a  village  beauty,  rosy-cheeked,  sweet  and  whole- 
some as  an  August  quarander,  and  I  find — " 

"  Robin — not  a  goddess." 

"Well,  then,  a  woman  tall  and  stately,  and  more  beauti- 
ful than  words  can  sa3^" 

"  Nay,  Robin,  you  do  but  flatter.  That  is  not  like  the  old 
Robin  I  remember  and" — I  should  have  added — "loved." 
but  the  word  stuck. 


POR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 


77 


"I  swear,  sweet  saint — if  I  may  swear — nay,  then  I  do 
affirm  that  I  do  not  flatter.-  Hear  me  tell  a  plain  tale.  I 
hav€  travelled  far  since  last  I  saw  thee  ;  I  have  seen  the 
great  ladies  of  the  court  both  of  St.  James's  and  of  the 
Louvre  ;  I  have  seen  the  famous  beauties  of  Provence  and 
the  black-eyed  witches  of  Italy  ;  but  nowhere  have  I  seen 
a  woman  half  so  fair." 

"  Robin — you  must  not  !     Nay,  Robin — you  shame  me  !  "' 

Then  he  knelt  at  my  feet,  and  seized  my  hand  and  kissed 
it.  Oh,  the  foolishness  of  a  man  in  love  !  And  yet  it  pleases 
us.  No  woman  is  worth  it.  No  woman  can  understand 
it;  nor  can  she  comprehend  the  power  and  might  of  man's 
love,  nor  why  he  singles  out  her  alone  from  all  the  rest, 
and  fills  his  heart  wholly  with  her,  so  that  all  other  women 
are  henceforward  as  his  sisters.  It  is  wonderful  ;  it  is  most 
wonderful.  Yet  it  pleases  us.  Nay,  we  thank  God  for  it 
with  all  our  heart  and  with  all  our  soul. 

I  would  not,  if  I  could,  set  down  all  the  things  which 
Robin  said.  First,  because  the  words  of  love  are  sacred  ; 
next,  because  I  would  not  that  other  women  should  know 
the  extravagance  of  his  praise.  It  was  in  broken  words,  be- 
cause love  can  never  be  eloquent. 

As  for  me,  what  could  I  do  ?  what  could  I  say .?  For  I 
had  loved  him  from  my  very  childhood,  and  now  all  my 
heart  went  out  from  me  and  became  his.  I  was  all  his.  I 
was  his  slave  to  command.  That  is  the  quality  of  earthly  love 
by  which  it  most  clearly  resembles  the  heavenly  love  ;  so 
that  just  as  the  godly  man  is  wholly  devoted  to  the  will  of 
the  Lord  in  all  things  great  and  small,  resigned  to  his  chas- 
tisements, and  always  anxious  to  live  and  die  in  his  service, 
so  in  earthly  love  one  must  be  wholly  devoted  to  the  per- 
son whom  one  loves. 

And  Robin  was  come  home  again,  and  I  was  lying  in  his 
arms,  and  he  was  kissing  me,  and  calling  me  all  the  sweet 
and  tender  things  that  he  could  invent,  and  laughing  and 
sighing  together  as  if  too  happy  to  be  quiet.  Oh  !  sweetest 
moments  of  my  life  !  Why  did  they  pass  so  quickly  ?  Oh  ! 
sacrament  of  love,  which  can  be  taken  only  once,  and  yet 
changes  the  whole  of  life,  and  fills  it  with  memory  which  is 
wholly  sweet  !  In  all  other  earthly  things  there  is  some- 
thing of  bitterness.  In  this  holy  joy  of  pure  and  sacred 
love  there  is  no  bitterness — no  ;  not  any.  It  leaves  behind 
nothing  of  reproftch  or  of  repentance,  of  shame  or  of  sorrow. 
It  is  altogether  holy. 

Now,  when  my  boy  had  somewhat  recovered  from  his 


78  l^OR  FAITH  AND  FREEDO.Xt. 

first  rapture,  and  I  had  assured  him  very  earnestly  that  1 
was  not,  indeed,  an  angel,  but  a  most  sinful  woman,  daily 
offending  in  my  inner  thoughts  (which  he  received,  indeed, 
with  an  appearance  of  disbelief  and  scorn),  I  was  able  to 
consider  his  appearance,  which  was  now  very  fine,  though 
always,  as  I  learned  when  I  saw  him  among  other  gentle- 
men, with  some  soberness  as  became  one  whose  upbring- 
ing inclined  him  to  soberness  of  dress  as  well  as  of  speech 
and  manner,  He  wore  a  long  wig  of  brown  hair,  which 
might  have  been  his  own  but  for  its  length  ;  his  hat  was 
laced  and  cocked,  which  gave  him  a  gallant  and  martial 
appearance  ;  his  neckcloth  was  long  and  of  fine  lace  ;  beside 
him,  in  my  russet  gown,  I  must  have  looked  truly  plain  and 
rustic  ;  but  Robin  was  pleased  not  to  think  so,  and  love  is 
a  great  magician  to  cheat  the  eyes. 

He  was  home  again  ;  he  told  me  he  should  travel  no 
more  (yet  you  shall  hear  how  far  he  afterwards  travelled)  ; 
his  only  desire  now  was  to  stay  at  home  and  live  as  his 
grandfather  had  lived,  in  his  native  village;  he  had  nothing 
to  pray  for  but  the  continuance  of  my  love — of  which,  in- 
deed, there  was  no  doubt  possible. 

It  was  now  close  upon  six  o'clock,  and  I  begged  him  to 
go  away  for  the  present,  and  if  my  father  and  Sir  Christo- 
pher should  agree,  and  it  should  seem  to  his  honor  a  fit  and 
proper  thing  that  Robin  should  marry  a  girl  so  penniless  as 
myself,  why — then — we  might  meet  again  after  breakfast, 
or  after  dinner  ;  or,  indeed,  at  any  other  time,  and  so  dis- 
course more  upon  the  matter.  So  he  left  me,  being  very 
reluctant  to  go  ;  and  I,  forgetting  my  garden  and  what  1 
had  come  forth  to  do,  returned  to  the  house. 

You  must  understand  that  all  these  things  passed  in  the 
garden  divided  from  the  lane  by  a  thick  hedge,  and  that 
])assers-by — but  there  were  none — could  not,  very  well, 
have  seen  what  was  done,  though  they  might  have  heard 
what  was  said.  But  if  my  father  had  looked  out  of  his 
window  he  could  have  seen,  and  if  my  mother  had  come 
down-stairs  she  also  might  have  seen  through  the  window, 
or  through  the  open  door.  Of  this  I  thought  not  upon,  nor 
was  there  anything  to  hide  ;  though  one  would  not  willing- 
ly suffer  any  one,  even  one's  own  mother,  to  see  and  listen 
at  such  a  moment.  Yet  mother  has  since  told  me  that  she 
saw  Robin  on  his  knees  kissing  my  hands,  but  she  with- 
drew and  would  not  look  again. 

When  I  stepped  within  the  door  she  was  at  work  with 
her  wheel,  and  looked  up  with  a  smile  upon  her  hps,  and 


FOk  FAITH  AND  h'REEDOM.  79 

tears  were  in  her  eyes.  Had  I  known  what  she  had  seen, 
I  should  have  been  ashamed. 

"Daughter,"  she  said,  softly,  "  thy  cheek  is  burning  red. 
Hast  thou,  perchance,  been  too  long  in  the  sun  ?  " 

"  No,  mother,  the  sun  is  not  too  hot." 

"  Daughter,"  she  went  on,  still  smiling  through  tears, 
"  thine  eyes  are  bright  and  glowing.  Hast  thou  a  touch  of 
fever  by  ill  chance  .?  " 

"No,  mother,  I  have  no  fever." 

"Child,  thy  lips  are  trembling  and  thy  hands  are  shak- 
ing.     My  dear,  my  dear,  what  is  it.''     Tell  thy  mother  all." 

She  held  out  her  arms  to  me,  and  I  threw  myself  at  her 
feet  and  buried  my  head  in  her  lap  as  if  I  had  been  again  a 
child. 

"Mother!  mother!"  I  cried,  "Robin  hath  come  home 
again,  and  he  says  he  loves  me,  and  nothing  will  do  but 
he  must  marry  me." 

"  My  dear,"  she  said,  kissing  and  fondling  me,  "Robin 
hath  always  been  a  good  lad,  and  I  doubt  not  that  he  hath 
returned  unspotted  from  the  world ;  but,  nay,  do  not  let  us 
be  tco  sure.  For,  first,  his  honor  must  consent,  and  then 
madam  ;  and  thy  father  must  be  asked — and  he  would 
never,  for  any  worldly  honor  suffer  thee  to  marry  an  ungod- 
ly man.  As  for  thy  lack  of  fortune,  I  know  not  if  it  will  stand 
in  the  way;  and  as  for  family,  thy  father,  though  he  was 
born  in  New  England,  cometh  of  a  good  stock,  and  I  myself 
am  a  gentlewoman,  and  on  both  sides  we  bear  an  ancient 
coat-of-arms.  And  as  for  thyself,  my  dear,  thou  art — I 
thank  God  for  it ! — of  a  sweet  temper  and  an  obedient  dis- 
position. From  the  earliest  thou  hast  never  given  thy 
mother  any  uneasiness,  and  I  think  thy  heart  hath  been 
mercifully  disposed  towards  goodness  from  thy  childhood 
upward.  It  is  a  special  grace  in  this  our  long  poverty  and 
oppression  ;  and  it  consoles  me  partly  for  the  loss  of  my 
son  Barnaby."  Here  she  was  silent  for  a  space,  and  her 
eyes  filled  and  brimmed  over.  "Child,"  she  said,  earnest- 
ly, "  thou  art  comely  in  the  eyes  of  men  ;  that  have  1  known 
for  long.  It  is  partly  for  thy  sweet  looks  that  Sir  Christo- 
pher loves  thee  ;  Mr.  Boscorel  plays  music  with  thee  be- 
cause his  eyes  love  to  behold  the  beauty  of  woman.  Nay, 
I  mean  no  reproach,  becau.sc  it  is  the  nature  of  men  to  love 
all  things  beautiful,  whether  it  be  the  plumage  of  a  bird  or 
the  shape  of  a  woman's  head.  Yes  ;  thou  art  beautiful,  my 
dear.  Beauty  passes,  but  love  remains.  Thy  husband  will, 
perchance,  never  cease  to  think  thee  lovely  if  he  still  proves 


,0  FOR  FAITIT  AA'D  FKEEboM. 

daily  thy  goodness  and  the  loveliness  of  thy  heart.  My 
dear,  thou  hast  long  comforted  thy  mother;  now shalt thou 
go,  with  the  blessing  of  the  Lord,  to  be  the  solace  and  the 
joy  of  thy  husband." 


CHAPTER  XII. 

HUMPHREY. 

Presently  my  father  came  in,  the  Bible  in  his  hand.  By 
his  countenance  it  was  plain  that  he  had  been  already  en- 
gaged in  meditation,  and  that  his  mind  was  charged  as  with 
a  message. 

Alas  !  to  think  of  the  many  great  discourses  that  he  pro- 
nounced (being  as  a  dog  who  must  be  muzzled  should  he 
leave  the  farm-yard)  to  us  women  alone.  If  they  were 
written  down  the  world  would  lift  up  its  hands  with  wonder, 
and  ask  if  a  prophet  indeed  had  been  vouchsafed  to  this  un- 
happy country.  The  Roman  Church  will  have  that  the 
time  of  saints  did  not  end  with  the  last  of  the  apostles  ;  that 
may  be,  and  yet  a  saint  has  no  more  power  after  death 
than  remains  in  his  written  words  and  in  the  memory  of  his 
life.  Shall  we  not,  however,  grant  that  there  may  still  be 
prophets,  who  see  and  apprehend  the  meaning  of  words 
and  of  things  more  fully  than  others  even  as  spiritually- 
minded  as  themselves }  Now,  I  say,  considering  what 
was  immediately  to  befall  us,  the  passage  which  my  father 
read  and  expounded  that  m.orning  was  in  a  manner  truly 
prophetic.  It  was  the  vision  of  the  basket  of  summer  fruit 
^vhich  was  vouchsafed  to  the  prophet  Amos.  He  read  to  us 
that  terrible  chapter — everybody  knows  it,  though  it  hath 
but  fourteen  verses  : 

"I  will  turn  your  feasts  into  mourning  aiid  all  your  songs 
into  lamentation.  ...  I  will  send  a  famine  int  he  land;  not  a 
famine  of  bread  or  a  thirst  of  water,  but  of  hearing  the  words 
of  the  Lord." 

He  then  applied  the  chapter  to  these  times,  saying  that 
the  Scriptures  and  the  prophecies  apply  not  only  to  the 
Israel  of  the  time  when  Amos  or  any  other  prophet  lived, 
but  to  the  people  of  God  in  all  ages,  yet  so  that  sometimes 
one  prophet  seems  to  deliver  the  message  that  befits  the 
time,  and  sometimes  another.  All  these  things  prophesied 
by  Amos  had  come  to  pass  in  this  country  of  Great  Britain, 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  %\ 

SO  that  there  was,  and  had  now  been  for  twenty-five  years, 
a  grievous  famine  and  a  sore  thirst  for  the  words  of  the 
Lord.  He  continued  to  explain  and  to  enlarge  upon  this 
topic  for  nearly  an  hour,  when  he  concluded  with  a  fervent 
prayer  that  the  famine  would  pass  away  and  the  sealed 
springs  be  open  again  for  the  children  of  grace  to  drink  and 
be  refreshed. 

This  done,  he  took  his  breakfast  in  silence,  as  was  his 
wont,  loving  not  to  be  disturbed  by  any  earthly  matters 
when  his  mind  was  full  of  his  morning  discourse.  When  he 
had  eaten  the  bread  and  meat  and  taken  the  cup  of  cider, 
he  arose  and  went  back  to  his  own  room,  and  shut  the 
door.  We  should  have  no  more  speech  of  him  until 
dinner-time. 

'*  I*  will  speak  with  him,  my  dear,"  said  my  mother.  "But 
not  yet     Let  us  wait  till  we  hear  from  Sir  Christopher." 

"  I  would  that  my  father  had  read  us  a  passage  of  en- 
couragement and  promise  on  this  morning  of  all  mornings," 
J  said. 

My  mother  turned  over  the  leaves  of  the  Bible.  "I  will 
read  you  a  verse  of  encouragement,"  she  said.  "It  is  the 
word  of  God  as  much  as  the  Book  of  the  Prophet  Amos." 
So  she  found  and  read  for  my  comfort  words  which  had  a 
new  meaning  to  me  : 

"My  beloved  spake  and  said  unto  me,  '  Rise  up,  my  love, 
my  fair  one,  and  come  away.  For,  lo  !  the  winter  is  past, 
the  rain  is  over  and  gone  ;  the  flowers  appear  on  the  earth  ; 
the  time  of  the  singing  of  birds  is  come,  and  the  voice  of 
the  turtle  is  heard  in  our  land  1  The  fig-tree  putteth  forth  her 
green  figs,  and  the  vines  with  the  tender  grape  give  a  good 
smell.     Arise,  my  love,  my  fair  one,  and  come  away.' " 

And  again,  these  that  follow  : 

"Set  me  as  a  seal  upon  thy  heart,  as  a  seal  upon  thine 
arm ;  for  love  is  strong  as  death ;  jealousy  is  cruel  as  the 
grave  ;  the  coals  thereof  are  coals  of  fire,  which  hath  a  most 
vehement  flame.  Many  waters  cannot  quench  love,  neither 
can  the  floods  drown  it.  If  a  man  would  give  all  the 
substaace  of  his  house  for  love  it  would  utterly  be  con- 
temned." 

In  these  gracious,  nay,  these  enraptured  words,  doth  the 
Bible  speak  of  love  ;  and  though  I  am  not  so  ignorant  as 
not  to  know  that  it  is  the  love  of  the  Church  for  Christ,  yet 
I  am  persuaded  by  my  own  spiritual  experience — whatever 
doctors  of  divinity  may  argue — that  the  earthly  love  of  hus- 
band and  wii«  may  be  spoktn  of  in  these  very  words  as 


$2  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

being  the  type  of  that  other  and  higher  love.  And  in  this 
matter  I  know  that  my  mother  would  also  confirm  my 
judgment. 

It  might  have  been  between  nine  and  ten  that  Humphrey 
came.  Surely  he  was  changed  more  than  Robin ;  for  the 
great  white  periwig  which  he  wore  (being  a  physician)  fall- 
ing upon  his  shoulders  did  partly  hide  the  deformity  of  his 
shoulder,  and  the  black  velvet  coat  did  also  become  him 
mightily.  As  for  his  face,  that  was  not  changed  at  all.  It 
had  been  grave  and  serious  in  youth  ;  it  was  now  more 
grave  and  more  serious  in  manhood.  He  stood  in  the  door- 
way, not  seeing  me — I  was  making  a  pudding  for  dinner, 
with  my  sleeves  rolled  up  and  my  arms  white  with  flour. 

"Mistress  Eykin,"  he  said,  "are  old  friends  passed  out  of 
mind?" 

"Why,"  my  mother  left  her  wheel  and  gave  him  her  hand, 
"'tis  Humphrey!  I  knew  that  we  should  see  thee  this 
morning,  Humphrey.  Is  thy  health  good,  my  son,  and  is 
all  well  with  thee?" 

"  All  is  well,  madam,  and  my  health  is  good  How  is 
my  master — thy  husband  ? " 

"He  is  always  well,  and — ^but  thou  knowest  what 
fnanner  of  life  he  leads.  Of  late  he  hath  been  much  dis- 
quieted ;  he  is  restless — his  mind  runs  much  upon  the 
prophecies  of  war  and  pestilence.  It  is  the  news  from 
London  and  the  return  of  the  mass  which  keep  him  uneasy. 
Go  in  and  see  him,  Humphrey.  He  will  willingly  suffer 
thee  to  disturb  him,  though  we  must  not  go  near  him  in  his 
hours  of  study." 

"  Presently  ;  but  where  is  my  old  playfellow — where  is 
Grace?" 

'*  She  is  behind  you,  Humphrey.  " 

He  turned,  and  his  pale  face  flushed  when  he  saw  me. 

"Grace  ?"  he  cried.  "Is  this  Gra^e  ?  Nay,  she  is 
changed  indeed  I  I  knew  not — I  could  not  expect — nay, 
how  could  one  expect — " 

"There  is  no  change," said  my  mother,  sharply.  ' '  Grace 
was  a  child,  and  is  now  a  woman  ;  that  is  all." 

"  Humphrey  expects,"  I  said,  "  that  we  should  all  stop 
still  while  time  went  on.  You  were  to  become  a  bachelor 
of  medicine,  sir,  and  a  fellow  of  All-Souls'  College,  and  to 
travel  in  Italy  and  France,  and  to  come  back  in  a  velvet 
coat,  and  a  long  sword,  and  a  periwig  over  your  shoulders ; 
and  I  was  to  be  a  little  gin  still." 

Humphrey  shook  his  heac\ 


FOR  PAITH  AI^£>  PHEEDOAf.  8^ 

"  It  is  not  only  that,"  he  said  ;  "  thoug;h  I  confess  that 
one  did  not  make  due  allowance  for  the  flight  of  time.  It  is 
that  the  sweet-faced  child  has  become — " 

"No,  Humphrey,"  I  said.  "I  want  no  compliments. 
Go  now,  sir,  and  speak  with  my  father.  Afterwards  you 
shall  tell  me  all  that  you  have  been  doing-." 

He  obeyed,  and  opened  my  father's  door. 

"  Humphrey  !"  My  father  sprang  to  his  feet.  "Wel- 
come, my  pupil  !  Thou  bringest  good  news  .?  Nay  ;  I 
have  received  thy  letters  :  I  read  the  good  news  in  thy 
face — I  see  it  in  thine  eyes.     Welcome  home  1  " 

"  Sir,  I  have,  indeed,  great  news,"  said  Humphrey. 

Then  the  door  was  closed. 

He  stayed  there  for  half  an  hour  and  more  ;  and  we 
heard  from  within  earnest  talk — my  father's  voice  some- 
limes  uplifted,  loud  and  angry,  but  Humphrey's  always 
low,  as  if  he  did  not  wish  us  to  overhear  them.  So,  not  to 
seem  unto  each  other  as  if  we  \vere  listening,  mother  and  I 
talked  of  other  things,  such  as  the  lightness  of  the  pudding 
and  the  quantity  of  suet  which  should  be  put  into  it,  and  the 
time  it  should  boil  in  the  pot,  and  other  things  as  women 
can  whose  hearts  are  full,  yet  they  must  needs  be  talking. 

"  Father  hath  much  to  say  to  Humphrey,"  I  said,  after  a 
time  ;  "  he  doth  not  use  to  like  such  interruption  V 

"  Humphrey's  conversation  is  no  interruption,  my  dear. 
They  think  the  same  thoughts  and  talk  the  same  language. 
Your  father  may  teach  and  admonish  us,  but  he  can  only 
converse  with  a  scholar  such  as  himself.  It  is  not  the  least 
evil  of  our  oppression  that  he  hath  been  cut  off  from  the 
society  of  learned  men,  in  which  he  used  to  take  so  much 
delight.  If  Humphrey  remains  here  a  little  while  you 
shall  see  your  father  lose  the  eager  and  anxious  look  which 
hath  of  late  possessed  him.  He  will  talk  to  Humphrey, 
and  will  clear  his  mind.  Then  he  will  be  contented  again 
for  a  while,  or,  at  least,  resigned." 

Presently  Humphrey  came  forth.  His  face  was  grave 
and  serious.     My  father  came  out  of  the  room  after  him. 

"  Let  us  talk  more,"  he  said — "  let  us  resume  our  talk. 
Join  me  on  the  hillside,  where  none  can  hear  us.  It  is, 
indeed,  the  vision  of  the  basket  of  summer  fruit  that  we 
read  this  morning."  His  face  was  working  with  some  in- 
ward excitement,  and  his  eyes  were  full  of  a  strange  light 
as  of  a  glad  conqueror,  or  of  one — forbid  the  thought  !  who 
M'as  taking  a  dire  revenge.  He  strode  down  the  garden 
and  out  into  the  lanes. 


84  FO^  FA/TIT  AND  FREEDOM. 

"  Thus,"  said  my  mother,  "  will  he  walk  out  and  som^ 
times  remain  in  the  woods,  walking,  preaching  to  the  winds, 
and  swinging  his  arms  the  whole  day  long.  Art  thou  a 
physician,  and  canst  thou  heal  him,  Humphrey  ?  " 

••If  the  cause  be  removed,  the  disease  will  be  cured. 
Perhaps  before  long  the  cause  will  be  removed.  ' 

"  The  cause — oh  !  the  cause — what  is  the  cause  but  the 
tyranny  of  the  law  ?  He  who  was  ordered  by  Heaven  it- 
self to  preach,  is  silent  for  five-and-twenty  years.  His  very 
life  hath  been  taken  from  him.  And  you  talk  of  removing 
the  cause  .' " 

"Madam,  if  the  law  suffer  him  once  more  to  preach 
freely,  would  that  satisfy  him — and  you  .?  " 

My  mother  shook  her  head.  ''The  law,  the  law,  "she  said  ; 
"  now  we  have  a  Papist  on  the  throne,  it  is  far  more  likely 
to  lead  my  husband  to  the  stake  than  to  set  him  free." 

"That  shall  we  shortly  see,"  said  Humphrey. 

My  mother  bent  her  head  over  her  wheel  as  one  who 
wishes  to  talk  no  more  upon  the  subject.  She  loved  not  to 
speak  concerning  her  husband  to  any  except  to  me. 

I  went  out  into  the  garden  with  Humphrey.  I  was  fool- 
ish. I  laughed  at  nothing.  I  talked  nonsense.  Oh!  I  was 
so  happy  that  if  a  pipe  and  tabor  had  been  heard  in  the  vil- 
lage I  should  have  danced  to  the  music,  like  poor  Barnaby 
the  night  before  he  ran  away.  I  regarded  not  the  grave  and 
serious  face  of  my  companion. 

"You  are  merry,  Grace,"  said  Humphrey. 

"It  is  because  you  are  come  back  again — you  and  Robin. 
Oh  I  the  time  has  been  long  and  dull — and  now  you  have 
come  back  we  shall  all  be  happy  again.  Yes  ;  my  father 
will  cease  to  fret  and  rage  :  he  will  talk  Latin  and  Greek 
with  you  ;  Sir  Christopher  will  be  happy  only  in  looking 
upon  you  ;  madam  will  have  her  son  home  again  ;  and  Mr. 
Boscorel  will  bring  out  all  the  old  music  for  you.  Hum- 
phrey, it  is  a  happy  day  that  brings  you  home  again." 

"  It  may  be  a  happy  day  also  for  me,"  he  said;  "but 
there  is  much  to  be  done.  When  the  business  we  have  in 
hand  is  accomplished — " 

"What  business,  Humphrey.?  "  For  he  spoke  so  graA-'ely 
that  it  startled  me. 

" 'Tis  busmess  of  which  thy  father  knows,  child.  Nay, 
let  us  not  talk  of  it.  I  think  and  hope  that  it  is  as  good  as 
accomplished  now  before  it  is  well  taken  in  hand.  It  is 
not  of  that  business  that  I  would  speak.  Grace,  thou  art  so 
beautiful  and  »o  tall — " 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  %^ 

"Nay,  Humphrey.      I  must  not  be  flattered." 

"And  I  so  crooked." 

"Humphrey,  I  will  not  hear  this  talk.  You,  so  great  a 
scholar,  thus  to  speak  of  yourself!  " 

"  Let  me  speak  of  myself,  my  dear.  Hear  me  for  a  mo- 
ment." I  declare  that  I  had  not  the  least  thought  of  what 
he  was  going  to  say,  my  mind  being  wholly  occupied  with 
the  idea  of  Robin. 

"I  am  a  physician,  as  you  doubtless  know.  Medicinae 
Doctor  of  Oxford,  of  Padua,  Montpellier,  and  Leyden.  I 
know  all — I  may  fairly  say,  and  without  boasting — that 
may  be  learned  by  one  of  my  age  from  schools  of  medicine 
and  from  books  on  the  science  and  practice  of  healing.  I 
believe,  in  short,  that  I  am  as  good  a  physician  as  can  be 
found  within  these  seas.  I  am  minded,  as  soon  as  tran- 
quillity is  restored,  to  set  up  as  a  physician  in  London, 
where  I  have  already  many  friends,  and  am  assured  of 
some  support.  I  think,  humbly  speaking,  that  reasonable' 
success  awaits  me.  Grace — you  know  that  I  have  loved 
you  all  my  life — will  you  marry  me,  crooked  as  I  am  ;  Oh ! 
you  cannot  but  know  that  I  have  loved  you  all  my  life. 
Oh  !  child,"  he  stretched  forth  his  hands,  and  in  his  eyes 
there  was  a  world  of  longing  and  of  sadness  which  moved 
my  heart.  "My  dear,  the  crooked  in  body  have  no  friends 
among  men  ;  they  cannot  join  in  their  rough  sports,  nor 
drink  with  them,  nor  fight  with  them.  They  have  no  chance 
of  happiness  but  in  love,  my  dear.  My  dear,  give  me  that 
chance  .-"  I  love  thee.  Oh  !  my  dear,  give  me  that  chance  .''  " 
Never  had  I  seen  Humphrey  so  moved  before.  I  fell 
guilty  and  ashamed  in  the  presence  of  this  passion  of  which 
1  was  the  most  unworthy  cause. 

"Oh!  Humphrey,  stop — for  Heaven's  sake  stop  !  because 
I  am  but  this  very  morning  promised  to  Robin,  who  loves 
me,  too — and  I  love  Robin,  Hum])hrey."  He  sank  1)ack, 
pale  and  disordered,  and  I  thought  that  he  would  swoon, 
but  he  recovered.  "  Humjihrey,  never  doubt  that  I  love 
you,  too.     But  oh  !   I  love  Robin,  and  Robin  loves  me. " 

"Yes,  dear — yes,  child — yes,  Grace, "  he  said,  in  broken 
accents.  "I  understand.  Everything  is  for  Robin — every- 
thing for  Robin.  Why,  I  might  have  guessed  it  !  For 
Robin,  the  straight  and  comely  figure ;  for  Robin,  the 
strength;  for  Robin,  the  inheritance  ;  for  Robin,  happy  love. 
For  me,  a  crooked  body  ;  for  me,  a  feeble  frame  ;  for  me, 
the  loss  of  fortune  ;  for  me,  contempt  and  poverty  ;  for  me, 
the  loss  of  love — all  for  Robin — all  for  Robin  ) '" 


96  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

"Humphrey — surely  thou  wouldst  not  envy  or  be  jealous 
of  Robin  !  "  Never  had  I  seen  him  thus  moved,  or  heard 
him  thus  speak 

He  made  no  answer  for  a  while.  Then  he  said  slowly 
and  painfully, 

"  Grace,  I  am  ashamed.  Why  should  not  Robin  have 
all?  Who  am  I  that  I  should  have  anything  ?  Forgive  me, 
child.  I  have  lived  in  a  paradise  which  fools  create  for 
themselves.  I  have  suffered  myself  to  dream  that  what  I 
ardently  desired  was  possible  and  even  probable.  Forgive 
me.  Let  me  be  as  before — your  brother.  Will  you  forgive 
me,  dear  ? " 

"Oh,  Humphrey  !  there  is  nothing  for  me  to  forgive." 

"  Nay,  there  is  much  for  me  to  repent  of  Forget  it,  then, 
if  there  is  nothing  to  forgive." 

"  I  have  forgotten  it  already,  Humphrey." 

"  So — "  he  turned  upon  me  his  grave,  sweet  face  (to  think 
of  it  makes  me  yearn  with  tenderness  and  pity  to  see  that 
face  again) — "So,  farewell,  fond  dream!  Do  not  think, 
my  dear,  that  I  envy  Robin.  'Tw^as  a  sweet  dream  !  Yet 
I  pray  that  Heaven  in  wrath  may  forget  me  if  ever  I  suffer 
this  passion  of  envy  to  hurt  my  cousin  Robin  or  thyself!  " 

So  saying,  he  burst  from  me  with  distraction  in  his  face. 
Poor  Humphrey  !  Alas  !  when  I  look  back  and  consider 
this  day,  there  is  a  doubt  which  haunts  me.  Always  had  I 
loved  Robin  :  that  is  most  true.  But  I  had  always  loved 
Humphrey  that  is  most  true.  What  if  it  had  been  Humph- 
rey instead  of  Robin  who  had  arisen  in  the  early  morning 
to  find  his  sweetheart  in  the  garden  when  the  dew  was  yet 
upon  the  grass  ? 


CHAPTER  XIIL 

ONE    DAY. 

In  times  of  great  sorrow  the  godly  person  ought  to  look 
forward  to  the  never-ending  joy  and  happiness  that  will 
follow  this  short  life.  Yet  we  still  look  backward  to  the 
happy  time  that  is  past  and  can  never  come  again.  And 
then  how  happy  does  it  seem  to  have  been  in  comparison 
with  present  affliction  ! 

It  pleased  Heaven  after  many  trials  to  restore  my  earthly 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  87 

happiness,  at  least,  in  its  principal  part,  which  is  earthly 
love.  Some  losses — grievous  and  lamentable — there  were 
which  could  not  be  restored.  Ye^  for  a  long-  time  I  had  no 
other  comfort  (apart  from  that  hope  which  I  trust  was  never 
suffered  to  harm  me)  than  the  recollection  of  a  single  day 
irom  dewy  morn  till  dusky  eve.  I  began  that  day  with 
the  sweetest  joy  that  a  girl  can  ever  experience — namely, 
the  return  of  her  lover  and  the  happiness  of  learning  that 
he  loves  her  more  than  ever,  and  the  knowledge  that  her 
heart  hath  gone  forth  from  her  and  is  wholly  his.  To  such 
a  girl  the  woods  and  fields  become  the  very  Garden  of 
Eden  ;  the  breath  of  the  wind  is  as  the  voice  of  the  Lord 
blessing  another  Eve  ;  the  very  showers  are  the  tears  of 
gladness  and  gratitude  ;  the  birds  sing  hymns  of  praise  ;  the 
leaves  of  the  trees  whisper  words  of  love  ;  the  brook  prattles 
of  kisses  ;  the  flowers  offer  incense  ;  the  royal  course  of  the 
sun  in  splendor,  the  glories  of  the  sunrise  and  sunset,  the 
twinkling  stars  of  night,  the  shadows  of  the  flying  clouds, 
the  pageant  of  the  summer  day — these  are  all  prepared  for 
that  one  happy  girl  and  for  her  happy  lover  !  Oh,  divine 
gift  of  love  !  which  thus  gives  the  whole  world  with  its 
fruits  in  season  to  the  pair !  Nay,  doth  it  not  create  them 
anew?  What  was  Adam  without  Eve.?  And  was  not  Eve 
created  for  no  other  purpose  than  to  be  a  companion  to  the 
man  ? 

I  say,  then,  that  this  day,  when  Robin  took  me  in  his 
arms  and  kissed  me — not  as  he  had  done  when  we  parted 
and  I  was  still  a  child,  but  with  the  fervent  kiss  of  a  lover 
. — was  the  happiest  day  in  all  my  life.  I  say  that  I  have 
never  forgotten  that  day,  but,  by  recalling  any  point  of  it, 
I  remember  all  ;  how  he  held  my  hand  and  how  he  made 
me  confess  that  I  loved  him  :  how  we  kissed  and  parted. 
to  meet  again.  As  for  poor  Humphrey,  I  hardly  gave  him 
so  much  as  a  thought  of  pity.  Then,  how  we  wandered 
along  the  brook  hand  in  hand ! 

"Never  to  part  again,  my  dear,"  said  the  fond  lover. 
"Here  will  we  love,  and  here  we  will  die.  Let  Benjamin 
become,  if  he  please,  lord  chancellor,  and  Humphrey  a 
gfreat  physician  ;  they  will  have  to  live  among  men  in 
towns,  where  every  other  man  is  a  rogue.  We  shall  live 
in  this  sweet  country  place,  where  the  people  may  be  rude 
but  they  are  not  knaves.  Why,  in  that  great  city  of  London, 
where  the  merchants  congregate  upon  the  exchange  and 
look  so  full  of  dignity  and  wisdom,  each  man  is  thinking 
p^U  the  time   that,  if  he  fail  to  overreach  his  neighbor,  that 


88  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

neighbor  will  overrtach  him.  Who  would  live  such  a  life 
when  he  can  pass  it  in  the  fields  with  such  a  companion  as 
my  Grace  ? 

The  pleasures  of  London  had  only  increased  his  thirst  for 
the  country  life.  Surely,  never  was  seen  a  swain  more 
truly  rustic  in  all  his  thoughts  !  The  fine  ladies  at  the  play- 
house, with  their  painted  fans,  made  him  think  of  one  who 
wore  a  russet  frock  in  Somersetshire,  and  did  not  paint  hei 
sweet  face — this  was  the  way  he  talked.  The  plays  they 
acted  could  never  even  be  read,  much  less  witnessed,  by 
that  dear  girl — so  full  of  wickedness  they  were.  At  the 
assemblies  the  ladies  were  jealous  of  each  other,  and  had 
scornful  looks  when  one  seemed  preferred  ;  at  the  taverns 
the  men  drank  and  bellowed  songs  and  quarrelled  ;  in  the 
streets  they  fought  and  took  the  wall  and  swaggered  ; 
there  was  nothing  but  fighting  among  the  baser  sort  with 
horrid  imprecations ;  at  the  coffee-house  the  politicians 
argued  and  quarrelled.  Nay,  in  the  very  churches  the 
sermons  were  political  arguments,  and  while  the  clergyman 
read  his  discourse  the  gallants  ogled  the  ladies.  All  this 
and  more  he  told  me. 

To  hear  my  boy,  one  would  think  there  was  nothing  in 
London  but  what  was  wicked  and  odious.  No  doubt  it  is 
a  wicked  place,  where  many  men  live  together ;  those  who 
are  wicked  easily  find  each  other  out,  and  are  encouraged 
in  their  wickedness,  "^'et  there  must  be  many  honest  and 
God-fearing  persons,  otherwise  the  judgment  of  Heaven 
would  again  fall  upon  that  city  as  it  did  in  the  time  of 
plague  and  in  the  great  fire. 

"My  pretty  Puritan,  "said  Robin,  "I  am  now  come  away 
from  that  place,  and  I  hope  never  to  see  it  again.  Oh  ! 
native  hills,  I  salute  you  !  Oh  !  woods  and  meadows,  1 
have  returned,  to  wander  again  in  your  delightful  shade.' 
Then,  which  was  unusual  in  my  boy  and  would  have  better 
become  Mr.  Boscorel  or  Humphrey,  he  began  to  repeat 
verses.     I  knew  not  that  he  had  ever  learned  any  : 

"  As  I  range  these  spacious  fields, 
Feast  on  all  that  nature  yields  ; 
Everything  inspires  delight, 
Charms  my  smell,  my  taste,  my  sight ; 
Every  rural  sound  1  hear 
Soothes  my  soul  and  tunes  my  ear." 

I  do  not  know  where  Robin  found  these  verses,  but  as  he 
repeated  them,  waving  his  arin  around,  I  thought  that 
Humphrey  himself  never  made  sweeter  lines. 


FOR  FAirn  AND  FREEDOM.  g^ 

He  then  told  me  how  Humphrey  would  certainly  become 
the  most  learned  physician  of  the  time,  and  that  he  was 
already  master  of  a  polite  and  dignified  manner  which  would 
procure  him  the  patronage  of  the  great  and  the  confidence 
of  all.  It  was  pleasant  to  hear  him  praise  his  cousin  with- 
out jealousy  or  envy.  To  be  sure,  he  knew  not  then — 
though  afterwards  I  told  him — that  Humphrey  was  his  rival. 
Even  had  he  known  this,  such  was  the  candor  of  my  Robin 
and  the  integrity  of  his  soul  that  he  would  have  praised  him 
even  more  loudly. 

One  must  not  repeat  more  of  the  kind  and  lovely  things 
that  the  dear  boy  said  while  we  strolled  together  by  the 
brookside. 

While  we  walked — 'twas  in  the  forenoon,  after  Hum- 
phrey's visit — Sir  Christopher,  his  grandfather,  in  his  best 
coat  and  his  gold-laced  hat  which  he  commonly  kept  for 
church,  and  accompanied  by  madam,  walked  from  the 
manor-house  through  the  village  till  they  came  to  our  cot- 
tage. Then,  with  great  ceremony,  they  entered,  Sir  Chris- 
topher bowing  low  and  madam  dropping  a  deep  courtesy 
to  my  mother,  who  sat  humbly  at  her  wheel. 

"  Madam,"  said  Sir  Christopher,  ''we  would,  with  your 
permission,  say  a  few  words  with  the  learned  Dr.  Eykin 
and  yourself." 

My  father,  who  had  now  returned  and  was  in  his  room, 
came  forth  when  he  was  called.  His  face  had  recovered 
something  of  its  serenity,  but  his  eyes  were  still  troubled. 
Madam  sat  down  ;  but  Sir  Christopher  and  my  father  stood. 

"Sir,"  said  his  honor,  "I  will  proceed  straight  to  the 
point.  My  grandson  desires  to  marry  your  daughter. 
Robin  is  a  good  lad  ;  not  a  scholar  if  you  will  ;  for  his  re- 
ligion, the  root  of  the  matter  is  in  him  ;  for  the  goodness  of 
his  heart,  I  will  answer ;  for  his  habit  of  life,  he  hath,  so 
far  as  we  can  learn,  acquired  no  vile  vices  of  the  city — he 
doth  neither  drink  nor  gamble,  nor  waste  his  health  and 
strength  in  riotous  living  ;  and  for  his  means,  they  are  my 
own.  All  that  I  have  will  be  his.  'Tis  no  great  estate,  but 
'twill  serve  him  as  it  hath  served  me.  Dr.  Eykin,  the  boy's 
mother  and  I  have  come  to  ask  your  daughter  in  marriage. 
We  know  her  worth,  and  we  are  well  satisfied  that  our  boy 
hath  made  so  good  and  wise  a  choice." 

"They  were  marrying  and  giving  in  marriage  when  the 
Flood  came ;  they  will  be  marrying  and  giving  in  marriage 
in  the  great  day  of  the  Lord,"  said  my  father. 


90 


FOk  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 


"Yes,  gossip  ;  but  that  is  no  reason  why  they  should  not 
be  marrying  and  giving  in  marriage." 

"You  ask  my  consent?"  said  my  father.  "This  surprise4 
me.     The  child  is  too  young  :  she  is  not  yet  of  marriageable 

"Husband,  she  is  nigh  upon  her  twentieth  birthday  I 

"I  thought  she  had  been  but  twelve  or  thereabouts! 
My  consent .''  Why,  Sir  Christopher,  in  the  eye  of  the 
world  this  is  great  condescension  on  your  part  to  take  a  pen- 
niless girl.  I  looked,  I  suppose,  to  the  marriage  of  my 
daughter  some  time — perhaps  to  a  farmer — yet — yet,  we 
are  told  that  a  virtuous  woman  has  a  price  far  above  rubies  ; 
and  that  it  is  she  who  buildeth  up  the  house,  and  we  are 
nowhere  told  that  she  must  bring  her  husband  a  purse  of 
gold.  Sir  Christopher,  it  would  be  the  blackest  ingratitude 
in  us  to  deny  you  anything  even  if  this  thing  were  against 
the  mind  of  our  daughter." 

"It  is  not — it  is  not,"  said  my  mother. 

"Wherefore,  seeing  that  the  young  man  is  a  good  man  as 
youths  go,  though  in  the  matter  of  the  syntax  he  hath  yet 
much  to  learn  ;  and  that  his  heart  is  disposed  towards  religion, 
I  am  right  glad  that  he  should  take  our  girl  to  wife." 

"  Bravely  said  !  cried  Sir  Christopher.  "  Hands  upon  it, 
man  !  And  we  will  have  a  merry  wedding.  But  to-day  I 
bid  you  both  to  come  and  feast  with  us.  We  will  have 
holiday  and  rejoicing." 

"Yes,"  said  my  father,  "we  will  feast,  though  to-mor- 
row comes  the  Deluge."  I  know  now  what  he  meant,  but 
at  that  time  we  knew  not,  and  it  seemed  to  his  honor  a 
poor  way  of  rejoicing  at  the  return  of  the  boys  and  the 
betrothal  of  his  daughter  thus  to  be  foretelling  woes. 
"The  vision  of  the  plumb-line  is  before  mine  eyes,"  my 
father  went  on.  "  Is  the  land  able  to  bear  all  this  ?  We 
talk  of  feasting  and  of  marriages.  Yet  a  few  days  or  per- 
haps already.  But  we  will  rejoice  together,  my  old  friend 
and  benefactor — we  will  rejoice  together."  With  these 
words  he  turned  and  went  back  to  his  room,  and,  after  some 
tears  with  my  mother,  madam  went  home  and  Sir  Chris- 
topher with  her.  But  in  honor  to  the  day  he  kept  on  his 
best  coat 

Robin  suffered  me  to  go  home,  but  only  that  I  might  put 
on  my  best  frock  ( I  had  but  two)  and  make  my  hair 
straight  which  had  been  blown  into  curls,  as  was  the  way 
with  my  hair.  And  then,  learning  from  my  mother  with 
the  utmost  satisfaction  what  had  passed,  he  lead  me  by  the 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  9 1 

hand,  as  if  I  were  already  his  bride,  and  so  to  the  manor- 
house,  where  first  Sir  Christopher  saluted  me  with  great 
kindness,  calling-  me  his  dear  grand-daughter,  and  saying 
that  next  to  Robin's  safe  return  he  asked  for  nothing  more 
than  to  see  me  Robin's  wife.  And  madam  kissed  me,  with 
tears  in  her  eyes,  and  said  that  she  could  desire  nothing 
better  for  her  son,  and  that  she  was  sure  I  should  do  my 
best  endeavors  to  make  the  boy  happy.  Then  Humphrry 
as  quietly  as  if  he  had  not  also  asked  me  to  be  his  wife, 
kissed  my  hand,  and  wished  me  joy  ;  and  Mr.  Boscorel 
also  kissed  me,  and  declared  that  Robin  ought  to  be  the 
happiest  dog  on  earth.     And  so  we  sat  down  to  our  feast. 

The  conversation  at  dinner  was  graver  than  the  occasion 
demanded.  For  though  our  travellers  continually  answered 
questions  about  the  foreign  lands  and  peoples  they  had  seen 
yet  the  subject  returned  always  to  the  condition  of  the 
country,  and  to  what  would  happen. 

After  dinner  we  sat  in  the  garden,  and  the  gentlemen 
began  to  talk  of  right  divine  and  of  non-resistance,  and  here 
it  seemed  to  me  as  if  Mr.  Boscorel  was  looking  on  as  from 
an  eminence  apart  For  when  he  had  once  stated  the  texts 
and  arguments  upon  which  the  High  Church  party  do  most 
rely  he  retired  and  made  no  further  objections,  listening  in 
silence  while  my  father  held  forth  upon  the  duty  of  rising 
against  wicked  princes.  At  last,  however,  being  challenged 
to  reply  by  Humphrey,  Mr.  Boscorel  then  made  answer  : 

"The  doctrine  that  subjects  may  or  may  not  rebel  against 
their  sovereign  is  one  which  I  regard  with  interest  so  long 
as  it  remains  a  question  of  logic  and  argument  only. 
Unfortunately,  the  times  are  such  that  we  may  be  called 
upon  to  make  a  practical  application  of  it  :  in  which  case 
there  may  follow  once  more  civil  war,  with  hard  knocks 
on  both  sides,  and  much  loss  of  things  temporal.  Where- 
fore to  my  learned  brother's  arguments,  which  I  admit  t(- 
be  plausible,  I  will,  for  the  present,  offer  no  reply,  except 
to  pray  Heaven  that  the  occasion  may  not  arise  of  converg- 
ing a  disputed  doctrine  into  a  rule  of  conduct. " 

Alas  !  even  while  he  spoke  the  messenger  was  speeding 
swiftly  towards  us  who  was  to  call  upon  all  present  to  take 
a  side. 

The  question  is  now.  I  hope,  decided  forever  ;  but  many 
men  had  first  to  die.  It  was  not  decided  then,  but  three 
years  later,  when  King  William  cut  the  knot,  and,  with  the 
applause  of  the  nation,  pulled  down  his  father-in-law  and 
mounted  the  throne  him»elf  with  his  gracious  consort     W« 


93 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 


are  agreed,  at  last,  that  kings,  like  judges,  generals,  and  all 
great  officers  of  state,  are  to  hold  their  offices  in  good 
behavior.  If  they  enter  into  machinations  against  the 
liberty  of  the  people  and  desert  the  national  religion,  they 
must  descend,  and  let  another  take  their  place.  But  before 
that  nght  could  be  established  for  the  country,  streams  o' 
blood  must  first  flow. 

While  they  talked,  we — I  mean  madam,  my  mother,  and 
myself — sat  and  listened.  But  my  mind  was  full  of  anothei 
subject,  and  I  heard  but  little  of  what  was  said,  noting 
chiefly  the  fiery  ardor  of  my  father  and  the  careless  grace 
of  Mr.  Boscorel. 

Presently  my  father,  \\'\\o  was  never  easy  in  the  company 
of  Mr.  Boscorel — (so  oil  and  water  will  not  agree  to  fill  a 
cup  in  friendship) — and,  besides,  being  anxious  to  rejoin 
the  society  of  his  books,  arose  and  went  away,  and  with 
him  my  mother — he,  in  his  ragged  cassock,  who  was  a 
learned  scholar  ;  she,  in  her  plain  homespun,  was  a  gentle- 
woman by  birth.  Often  had  I  thought  of  our  poverty  with 
bitterness.  But  now  it  was  with  a  softened  heart  that  I 
saw  them  walk  side  by  side  across  the  lawns.  For  now  I 
understood  plainly — and  for  the  first  time — how  love  can 
strengthen  and  console.  INIy  mother  was  poor,  but  she 
was  not  therefore  unhappy. 

Mr.  Boscorel  also  rose  and  went  away  with  Humphrey. 
They  went  to  talk  of  things  more  interesting  to  the  rector 
than  the  doctrine  of  non-resistance  ;  of  painting,  namely, 
and  statuary  and  models.  And  when  we  presently  walked 
from  the  rectory  gardens  we  heard  a  most  gladsome  scrap- 
ing of  fiddle-strings  within,  which  showed  that  the  worthy 
man  was  making  the  most  of  Humphrey's  return. 

When  Sir  Christopher  had  taken  his  pipe  of  tobacco  he 
fell  asleep.  Robin  and  I  walked  in  the  garden  and  renewed 
our  vows.  Needs  must  that  I  should  tell  him  all  that  I  had 
done  or  thought  since  he  went  away.  As  if  the  simple 
thoughts  of  a  country-maid  should  be  of  interest  to  a  man  ! 
Yet  he  seemed  pleased  to  question  and  to  listen,  and  pres- 
ently broke  into  a  rapture,  swearing  that  he  was  in  love 
with  an  angel.  Young  lovers  may,  it  is  feared,  fall  into 
grievous  sin  by  permitting  themselves  these  extravagances 
of  speech  and  thought ;  yet  it  is  hard  to  keep  them  sober, 
and  besides  (because  every  sin  in  man  meeteth  with  its  cor- 
respondent in  woman),  if  the  l()\'cr  be  extravagant,  the 
maiden  takes  pleasure  in  his  extravagance.  To  call  a  mor- 
tal, full  of  imperfections,  an   angel,  is  little  short   of  bias- 


POR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  93 

•hemy.  Yet  I  heard  it  with,  I  confess,  a  secret  pleasure. 
We  know  ourselves  and  the  truth  concerning-  ourselves  ;  we 
do  not  deceive  ourselves  as  to  our  imperfections  ;  yet  we 
are  pleased  that  our  lovers  should  so  speak  and  think  of  us 
as  if  we  were  angels  indeed. 

Robin  told  me,  presently  ceasing  his  extravagances  for  a 
while,  that  he  was  certain  something  violent  was  on  foot. 
To  be  sure,  everybody  expected  so  much.  He  said,  more- 
over, that  he  believed  Humphrey  had  certain  knowledge  of 
what  was  going  to  happen  ;  that  before  they  left  the  Low 
Countries  Humphrey  had  been  present  at  a  meeting  of  the 
exiles  in  Rotterdam,  where  it  was  well  known  that  Lord 
Argyle's  expedition  was  resolved  upon  ;  that  he  had  been 
much  engaged  in  London  after  their  return,  and  had  paid 
many  visits,  the  nature  of  which  he  kept  secret  :  and  that 
on  the  road  there  was  not  a  town  and  scarcely  a  village 
where  Humphrey  had  not  some  one  to  visit. 

"My  dear,"  he  said,  "  Humphrey  is  slight  as  to  stature 
and  strength,  but  he  carries  a  stout  heart.  There  is  no  man 
more  bitter  against  the  king  than  he,  and  none  more  able  if 
his  counsels  were  listened  to.  Monmouth,  I  am  certain, 
purposes  to  head  an  expedition  into  England  like  that  of 
Lord  Argyle  in  Scotland.  The  history  of  England  hath 
many  instances  of  such  successful  attempts.  King  Stephen, 
King  Henry  IV.,  King  Henry  VH.,  are  all  examples.  If 
Monmouth  lands,  Humphrey  will  join  him,  I  am  sure. 
And  I,  my  dear — "  he  paused. 

"  And  you  too,  Robin?  Oh!  must  you  too  go  forth  to 
fight?  And  yet,  if  the  duke  doth  head  a  rising  all  the 
world  would  follow.  Oh  I  to  drive  away  the  papist  king 
and  restore  our  liberty  ?  " 

"My  dear,  I  will  do  what  my  grandfather  appro\'es.  If 
it  be  my  duty  to  go,  he  will  send  me  forth." 

I  had  almost  forgotten  to  say  that  madam  took  me  to  her 
own  chamber,  where  she  opened  a  box  and  pulled  out  a 
gold  chain,  very  fine.  This  she  hung  about  my  neck  and 
bade  me  sit  down,  and  gave  me  some  sound  advice,  re- 
minding me  that  woman  was  the  weaker  vessel,  and  should 
look  to  her  husband  not  only  to  love  and  cherish  her,  but 
also  to  prevent  her  from  falling  into  certain  grievous  sins, 
as  of  temper,  deceitfulness,  vanity,  and  the  like,  to  which 
the  weaker  nature  is  ever  prone.  IMany  other  things  she 
said,  being  a  good  and  virtuous  woman,  but  I  pass  them 
over. 

After  supper  we  went  again  into  the  garden,  the  weather 


§4  i'OR  FAITN  AND  FREEDOM. 

being  warm  and  fine.  The  sun  went  down,  but  the  sky 
was  full  of  light,  though  it  was  past  nine  o'clock  and  time 
for  me  to  go  home  and  to  bed.  Yet  we  lingered.  The  birds 
had  gone  to  sleep  ;  there  was  no  whisper  of  the  wind  ;  the: 
village  was  in  silence.  And  Robin  was  whispering  in  mv 
ear.  I  remember — I  remember  the  very  tones  of  his  voice, 
which  were  low  and  sweet.  I  remember  the  words  he 
said  :  "  Sweet  love  !  Sweet  love  i  How  could  I  live  so 
long  without  thee  ?"  I  remembe.my  swelling  heart  and 
my  glowing  cheeks.  Oh  !  Robin — Robin  !  Oh  !  poor 
heart  }  poor  maid  !  The  memory  of  this  one  day  was 
nearly  all  thou  hadst  to  feed  upon  for  so  long — so  long  a 
time  ! 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

B  A  R  N  A  B  Y. 

Suddenly  we  heard  footsteps,  as  of  those  who  are  run* 
ning,  and  my  father's  voice  speaking  loud. 

"Sing,  O  daughter  of  Zion  !  Shout,  O  Israeli  Be  gla<? 
and  rejoice  with  all  thy  heart  !  " 

"  Now,  in  the  name  of  Heaven,"  cried  Sir  Christopher 
'*  what  meaneth  this  ?  " 

*'  The  arm  of  the  Lord  !     The  deliverance  of  Israel  !  " 

He  burst  upon  us,  dragging  a  man  with  him  by  the  arm. 
In  the  twilight  1  could  only  see,  at  first,  that  it  was  a 
broad,  thick-set  man.  But  my  father's  brave  form  looked 
taller  as  he  waved  his  arms  and  cried  aloud.  Had  he  been 
clad  in  a  sheepskin,  he  would  have  resembled  one  of  those 
ancient  prophets  whose  words  were  always  in  his  mouth. 

"Good  friend, "  said  Sir  Christopher,  "  what  meaneth 
these  cries  .''     Whom  have  we  here  I  " 

Then  the  man  with  my  father  stepped  forward  and  took 
off  his  hat.  Why,  I  knew  him  at  once  ;  though  it  was  ten 
years  since  I  had  seen  him  last  !  'Twas  my  brothei 
Barnaby — none  other — come  home  again.  He  was  now  a 
great  strong  man — a  stouter  have  I  never  seen,  though  he 
was  somewhat  under  the  middle  height,  broad  in  the 
shoulders,  and  thick  of  chest.  Beside  him  Robin,  though 
reasonable  in  breadth,  showed  like  a  slender  sapling.  But 
he  had  still  the  same  good-natured  face,  though  now  much 


FOR  FAITH  AA'D  FREEDOM. 


95 


broader.  It  needed  no  more  than  the  first  look  to  know  my 
brother  Barnaby  again.  "  Barnaby, "  I  cried,  "  Barnaby, 
hast  thou  forgotten  me  ?  "  I  caught  one  of  his  great  hands 
— never,  surely,  were  there  bigger  hands  than  IBarnaby's  ! 
"  Hast  thou  forgotten  me  .'' " 

"  Why,"  he  said,  slowly — 'twas  ever  a  boy  slow  of  speech 
and  of  understanding — "  belike,  "tis  sister. ''  He  kissed  my 
forehead.  "  It  is  sister,''  he  said,  as  if  he  were  tasting  a 
cup  of  ale  and  was  pronouncing  on  its  quality.  "How  dost 
thou,  sister  ?  Bravely,  I  hope.  Thou  art  grown,  sister. 
I  have  seen  my  mother,  and — and— she  does  bravely,  too  ; 
though  I  left  her  crying.  'Tis  their  way,  the  happier  they 
be." 

"Barnaby.?"  said  Sir  Christopher,  "is  it  thou,  scape- 
grace ?  Where  hast  thou —  But  first  tell  us  what  has 
happened.     Briefly,  man." 

"  In  two  words,  sir  :  the  Duke  of  Monmouth  landed  the 
day  before  yesterday  at  Lyme-Regis  with  my  Lord  Grey 
and  a  company  of  a  hundred — of  whom  I  was  one." 

The  duke  had  landed  !     Then  what  Robin   expected  had 
come  to  pass  !  and  my  brother  Barnaby  was  with  the  in 
surgents  !     My  heart  beat  fast. 

"  The  Duke  of  Monmouth  hath  landed  !  "  Sir  Christopher 
repeated,  and  sat  down  again,  as  one  who  knows  not  what 
may  be  the  meaning  of  the  news. 

"  Ay,  sir,  the  duke  hath  landed.  We  left  Holland  on  the 
24th  of  May,  and  we  made  the  coast  at  Lyme  at  daybreak 
on  Thursday  the  nth.  'Tis  now,  I  take  it,  Saturday.  The 
duke  had  with  him  on  board  ship  Lord  Grey,  Mr.  Andrew 
Fletcher  of  Saltoun,  Mr.  Heywood  Dare  of  Taunton — '' 

"  I  know  the  man,"  said  Sir  Christopher,  "  for  an  im- 
pudent, loud-tongued  fellow." 

"  Perhaps  he  was,  sir,"  said  Barnaby,  gravely.  "Per- 
haps he  was,  but  now — " 

"How  '  was  '  ?  " 

"  He  was  shot  on  Thursday  evening  by  Mr.  Fletcher  for 
offering  him  violence  with  a  cane,  and  is  now  dead. " 

"  'Tis  a  bad  beginning.     Go  on,  Barnaby." 

"  The  duke  had  also  Mr.  Ferguson,  Colonel  Venner,  Mr. 
Chamberlain,  and  others  whom  I  cannot  remember.  First 
we  set  Mr.  Dare  and  Mr.  Chamberlain  ashore  at  Seatown, 
whence  they  were  to  carry  intelligence  of  the  rising  to  the 
duke's  friends.  The  duke  landed  at  seven  o'clock  with  his 
company,  in  seven  boats.  First,  he  fell  on  his  knees,  and 
prayed  aloud.   Then  he  drew  his  sword,  and  we  all  marched 


^g  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

after  to  the  market-place  where  he  raised  his  flag  and 
caused  the  declaration  to  be  read.  Here  it  is,  your  honor. 
Me  lugged  out  a  copy  of  the  declaration,  which  Sir  Christopher 
put  aside,  saying  that  he  would  read  it  in  the  morning. 

"  Then  we  tossed  our  hats  and  shouted  'A  Monmouth  ! 
A  Monmouth  !  "  Sixty  stout  young  fellows  listed  on  the 
spot.  Then  we  divided  our  forces,  and  begin  to  land  the 
cannon — four  pretty  pieces  as  you  could  wish  to  see — and 
ihe  arms,  of  which  I  doubt  if  we  have  enough,  and  the 
powder — two  hundred  and  fifty  barrels.  The  duke  lay  on 
Thursday  night  at  the  George.  Next  day  before  dawn,  the 
country  people  began  flocking  in." 

"  What  gentlemen  have  come  in  }  " 

"  I  know  not,  sir — my  duty  was  most  of  the  day  on 
board,  In  the  evening  I  received  leave  to  ride  home,  and, 
indeed,  Sir  Christopher,  to  carry  the  duke's  declaration  to 
yourself  And  now  we  shall  be  well  rid  of  the  king,  the 
pope  and  the  devil." 

"  Because,"  said  my  father,  solemnly — "  because  with 
lies  ye  have  made  the  hearts  of  the  righteous  sad  whom  I 
have  not  made  sad." 

"And  what  doest  thou  among  this  goodly  company, 
Friend  Barnaby  ?  " 

"I  am  to  be  a  captain  in  one  of  the  regiments,"  said  Bar- 
naby, grinning  with  pride;  "though  a  sailor,  yet  can  I 
fight  with  the  best.  My  colonel  is  Mr.  Holmes  ;  and  my 
major,  Mr.  Parsons.  On  board  the  frigate  I  was  master, 
and  navigated  her." 

"There  will  be  knocks,  Barnaby  ;  knocks,  I  doubt." 

"By  your  honor's  l«ave,  I  have  been  where  knocks  were 
flying  for  ten  years,  and  I  will  take  my  share,  remembering 
still  the  treatment  of  my  father  and  the  poverty  of  my 
mother." 

"  It  is  rebellion,  Barnaby  ! — rebellion  !  " 

"  Why,  sir,  Oliver  Cromwell  was  a  rebel.  And  your  honor 
fought  in  the  army  of  the  Earl  of  Essex — and  what  was  he 
but  a  rebel .''  " 

I  wondered  to  hear  my  brother  speak  with  so  much  bold- 
ness, who  ten  years  before  had  bowed  low  and  pulled  his 
hair  in  presence  of  his  honor.  Yet  Sir  Christopher  seemed 
to  take  this  boldness  in  good  part. 

"Barnaby,  "he  said,  "thou  art  a  stout  and  proper  lad, 
and  I  doubt  not  thy  courage — nay,  I  see  it  in  thy  face, 
which  hath  resolution  in  it,  and  yet  is  modest  ;  no  ruffler  ot 
boaster  art  thou,   Friend  Barnaby.     Yet — yet — if  rebellion 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 


97 


fail — even  rebellion  in  a  just  cause — then  those  who  rise 
lose  their  lives  in  vain,  and  the  cause  is  lost,  until  better 
times."  This  he  said  as  one  who  speaketh  to  himself.  I 
saw  him  look  upon  his  grandson.  "The  king  is — a  papist," 
he  said,  "that  is  most  true.  A  papist  should  not  be  suf- 
fered to  rule  this  country.  Vet  to  rise  in  rebellion  !  Have  a 
care,  lad  !  What  if  the  time  be  not  yet  ripe?  How  know  we 
who  will  join  the  duke  .-*  " 

"The  people  are  flocking  to  his  standard  by  thousands,'' 
said  Barnaby.  "When  I  rode  away  last  night  the  duke's 
secretaries  were  writing  down  their  names  as  fast  as  they 
could  be  entered  ;  they  were  landing  the  arms  and  already 
exercising  the  recruits.  And  such  a  spirit  they  show,  sir,  it 
would  do  your  heart  good  only  once  to  witness  !  " 

Now,  as  I  looked  at  Barnaby,  I  became  aware  that  he 
was  not  only  changed  in  appearance,  but  that  he  was  also 
very  nneiy  dressed — namely,  in  a  scarlet  coat  and  a  sword 
with  a  silken  sash,  with  laced  ruffles,  a  gold-laced  hat,  a 
great  wig,  white  breeches,  and  a  flowered  waistcoat.  In 
the  light  of  day,  as  I  afterwards  discovered,  there  were  stains 
of  wine  visible  upon  the  coat,  and  the  ruffles  were  torn,  and 
the  waistcoat  had  marks  upon  it  as  of  tar.  One  doth  not, 
to  be  sure,  expect  in  the  sailing-master  of  a  frigate  the  same 
neatness  as  in  a  gallant  of  St.  James's.  Yet  our  runaway 
lad  must  have  prospered. 

"What  doth  the  duke  intend?"  Sir  Christopher  asked  him. 

"Indeed,  sir,  I  know  not.  'Tis  said  by  some  that  he 
will  raise  the  West  Country  ;  and  by  some  that  he  will 
march  north  into  Cheshire,  where  he  hath  many  friends  ; 
and  by  others  that  he  will  march  upon  London,  and  call  up- 
on all  good  Protestants  to  rise  and  join  him.  We  look  t(i 
have  an  army  of  twenty  thousand  within  a  week.  As  for 
the  king,  it  is  doubted  whether  he  can  raise  a  paltry  five 
thousand  to  meet  us.  Courage,  dad  " — he  dared  to  call  his 
father,  the  Rev.  Comfort  Eykin,  Doctor  of  Divinity,  "dad!" 
— and  he  clapped  him  lustily  upon  the  shoulder  ;  "thou 
shalt  mount  the  pulpit  yet ;  ay,  of  Westminster  Abbey  if  it 
so  please  you  I  " 

His  father  paid  no  heed  to  this  conversation,  being  wrap- 
ped in  his  own  thoughts. 

"I  know  not,"  said  Sir  Christopher.  "  what  to  think,  the 
news  is  sudden.      And  yet — and  yet — " 

"We  waste  time,"  cried  my  father,  stamping  his  foot. 
"Oh  !  we  waste  the  time  talking.  What  helps  it  to  talk? 
Every  honest  man  must  now  be  up  and  doing.     Why,  it  is 

7 


^8  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM, 

a  plain  duty  laid  upon  us.  The  finger  of  Heaven  is  visible, 
I  say,  in  this.  Out  of  the  very  sins  of  Charles  Stuart  hath  the 
instrument  for  the  destruction  of  his  race  been  forged.  A 
plain  duty,  I  say.  As  for  me,  I  must  preach  and  exhort. 
As  for  my  son,  who  was  dead  and  yet  liveth  " — he  laid  his 
hand  upon  Barnaby's  shoulder — "time  was  when  I  prayed 
that  he  might  become  a  godly  minister  of  God's  Word. 
Now  I  perceive  clearly  that  the  Lord  hath  ways  of  his  own. 
My  son  shall  fight  and  I  shall  preach.  Perhaps  he  will 
rise  and  become  another  Cromwell  !  '' — Barnaby  grinned. 

"  Sir,"  said  my  father,  turning  hotly  upon  his  honor,  "I 
perceive  that  thou  art  lukewarm.  If  the  cause  be  the  Lord's, 
what  matter  for  the  chances.?  The  issue  is  in  the  hands  of 
the  Lord.  As  for  me  and  my  household,  we  M'ill  serve  the 
Lord.  Yea,  I  freely  offer  myself, and  my  son,  and  my  wife, 
and  my  daughter — even  my  tender  daughter  — to  the  cause 
of  the  Lord.  Young  men  and  maidens,  old  men  and  chil- 
dren, the  voice  of  the  Lord  calleth  !  '' 

Nobody  made  reply  ;  my  father  looked  before  him,  as  if 
he  saw  in  the  twilight  of  the  summer  night  a  vision  of  what 
was  to  follow.  His  face,  as  he  gazed,  changed.  His  eyes, 
which  were  fierce  and  fiery,  softened.  His  lips  smiled. 
Then  he  turned  his  face  and  looked  upon  each  of  us  in  turn 
— upon  his  son  and  upon  his  wife  and  upon  me,  upon 
JRobin,  and  upon  Sir  Christopher. 

"  It  is,  indeed,"  he  said,  "the  will  of  the  Lord.  Why, 
what  though  the  end  be  violent  death  to  me,  and  to  all  of  us 
ruin  and  disaster  1  We  do  but  share  the  afflictions  foretold 
in  the  vision  of  the  basket  of  summer  fruit.  What  is  death  .'' 
What  is  the  loss  of  earthly  things  compared  with  what  shall 
follow  to  those  who  obey  the  voice  that  calls  .'  Children, 
let  us  be  up  and  doing.  As  for  me,  I  shall  have  a  season 
of  freedom  before  I  die.  For  twenty-tive  years  have  I  been 
muzzled  or  compelled  to  whisper  and  mutter  in  corners  and 
hiding-places.  I  have  been  a  dumb  dog.  I,  whose  heart 
was  full  and  overflowing  with  the  sweet  and  precious  Word 
of  God  ;  I,  to  whom  it  is  not  life,  but  death,  to  sit  in  silence  ! 
Now  I  shall  deliver  my  soul  before  I  die.  Sirs,  the  Lord 
hath  given  to  every  man  a  weapon  or  two  with  which  to 
fight  To  me  he  hath  given  an  eye  and  a  tongue  for  dis- 
coursing and  proclaiming  the  word  of  sacred  doctrine.  I 
have  been  muzzled— a  dumb  dog — though  sometimes  I  have 
been  forced  to  climb  among  the  hills  and  speak  to  the  bend- 
ing tree-tops.  Now  I  shall  be  free  again,  and  I  will  speak, 
and  all  the  ends  of  the  earth  shall  hear," 


POR  FAITH  AA'D  FREEDOM. 


9<l 


His  eyes  gleamed,  he  panted  and  gasped  and  waved  his 
arms. 

"As  for  sister,  dad,"  said  Barnaby,  "she  and  mothei 
may  bide  at  home." 

"No,  they  shall  go  with  me.  I  offer  my  wife,  my  son, 
my  daughter,  and  myself  to  the  cause  of  the  Lord." 

"A  camp  is  but  a  rough  place  for  a  woman,"  said  Bar- 
naby. 

"  She  is  offered  :  she  is  dedicated  ;  she  shall  go  with  us. " 

I  know  not  what  was  in  his  mind,  or  why  he  wished  that 
I  should  go  with  him,  unless  it  was  a  desire  to  give  every- 
thing that  he  had — to  hold  back  nothing — to  the  Lord  : 
therefore  he  would  give  his  children  as  well  as  himself.  As 
for  me,  my  heart  glowed  to  think  that  I  was  even  worthy  to 
join  in  such  a  cause.  What  could  a  woman  do  }  But  that 
I  should  find  out. 

"  Robin,"  I  whispered,  "'tis  religion  calls.  If  I  am  to 
be  among  the  followers  of  the  duke,  thou  wilt  not  remain 
behind  t  " 

"  Child — it  was  my  mother  who  whispered  to  me  ;  I  had 
not  seen  her  coming — "Child,  let  us  obey  him.  Perhaps  ii 
will  be  better  for  him  if  we  are  at  his  side.  And  there  is 
Barnaby.  But  we  must  not  be  in  their  Avay.  We  shall  find 
a  place  to  sit  and  wait.  Alas  !  that  my  son  hath  returned  to 
us  only  to  go  fighting.     We  will  go   with  them,  daughter." 

"We  should  be  better  without  women,"  said  Barnaby, 
grumbling  ;  "I  would  as  lief  have  a  woman  on  shipboard 
as  in  the  camp.  To  be  sure,  if  he  has  set  his  heart  upon 
it — and  then  he  will  not  stay  long  in  camp,  where  the  curs- 
ing of  the  men  is  already  loud  enough  to  scare  a  preacher 
out  of  his  cassock.  Dad,  I  say — "  But  my  father  wa& 
fallen  again  into  a  kind  of  rapture,  and  heard  nothing. 

"When  doth  the  duke  begin  his  march  .-*"  he  said,  sud- 
denly. 

"  I  know  not.     But  we  shall  find  him,  never  fear." 

"  I  must  have  speech  with  him  at  the  earliest  possible 
time.  Plours  are  precious,  and  we  waste  them — we  waste 
them." 

"Well,  sir,  it  is  bedtime.  To-n"vorrow  we  can  ride  ;  un- 
less, because  it  is  the  Sabbath,  you  would  choose  to  wait  till 
Monday.  And  as  to  the  women,  by  your  leave,  it  is  mad- 
ness to  bring  them  to  a  camp." 

"Wait  till  Monday?  Art  thou  mad,  Barnaby!  Why,  I 
have  things  to  tell  the  duke.  Up  !  let  us  ride  all  night. 
To-morrow  is  the  Sabbath,  and  I  will  preach.     Yea — I  will 


iOO  FOR  FAITH  AXD  FREEDOM. 

preach.  My  soul  longeth — yea,  even  it  fainteth,  for  the 
courts  of  the  Lord.  Quick  !  quick  !  let  us  mount  and  ride 
all  nig-ht  I  " 

"  Lads,"  said  Sir  Christopher,  "'you  are  fresh  from  Hol- 
land.      Knew  you  aught  of  this  }  " 

"  Sir,"  said  Humphrey,  "I  have  already  told  Dr.  Eykin 
what  to  expect.  I  knew  that  the  duke  was  coming.  Robin 
did  not  know,  because  I  would  not  drag  him  into  the  con- 
spiracy. I  knew  that  the  duke  was  coming,  and  that  without 
delay.  I  have  myself  had  speech  in  Amsterdam  with  his 
grace,  who  comes  to  restore  the  Protestant  religion  and  to 
give  freedom  of  worship  to  all  good  Protestant  people.  His 
friends  have  promises  of  support  everywhere.  Indeed,  sir, 
I  think  that  the  expedition  is  well  planned,  and  is  certain  of 
support.  Success  is  in  the  hands  of  the  Lord  ;  but  we  do 
not  expect  that  there  will  be  any  serious  opposition.  With 
submission,  sir,  I  am  under  promise  to  join  the  duke.  I 
came  over  in  advance  to  warn  his  friends,  as  I  rode  from 
London,  of  his  approach.  Thousands  are  waiting  in  read- 
iness for  him.  But,  sir,  of  all  this,  I  repeat,  Robin  knew 
nothing.  I  have  been  for  three  months  in  the  councils  of 
those  who  desire  to  drive  forth  the  popish  king,  but  Robin 
have  I  kept  in  the  dark." 

"Humphrey,"  said  Robin,  "am  not  I  a  Protestant?" 


CHAPTER  XV. 

A  NIGHT  AND  MORNING  AT  LYME-REGIS. 

When  I  read  of  men  possessed  by  some  spirit — that  is  to 
say,  compelled  to  go  hither  and  thither  where,  but  for  the 
spirit,  they  would  not  go,  and  to  say  things  which  they  would 
not  otherwise  have  said — I  think  of  our  midnight  ride  to 
Lyme,  and  of  my  father  then,  and  of  the  three  weeks'  mad- 
ness which  followed.  It  was  some  spirit — whether  of  good 
or  evil,  I  cannot  say,  and  I  dare  not  so  much  as  to  ques- 
tion— which  seized  him.  That  he  hurried  away  to  join  the 
duke  on  the  first  news  of  his  landing,  without  counting  the 
cost  or  weighing  the  chances,  is  easy  to  be  understood. 
Like  Humphrey,  he  was  led  by  his  knowledge  of  the  great 
numbers  who  hated  the  Catholic  religion  to  believe  that  they, 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  lOi 

like  himself,  would  rise  with  one  accord.  He  also  remem- 
bered the  successful  rebellion  against  the  first  Charles,  and 
expected  nothing  less  than  a  repetition  of  that  success. 
This,  I  knew,  was  what  the  exiles  in  Holland  thought  and 
believed.  The  duke,  they  said,  was  the  darling  of  the  peo- 
ple ;  he  was  the  Protestant  champion  :  who  would  not  press 
forward  when  he  should  draw  the  sword.''  But  what  man  in 
his  sober  senses  would  have  dragged  his  wife  and  daughter 
with  him  to  the  godless  riot  of  a  camp  .?  Perhaps  he  wanted 
them  to  share  his  triumph,  to  listen  while  he  moved  the  sol- 
diers as  that  ancient  hermit  Peter  moved  the  people  to  the 
Holy  Wars  ?  But  I  know  not.  He  said  that  I  was  to  be, 
like  Jephthah's  daughter,  consecrated  to  the  cause  of  the 
Lord ;  and  what  he  meant  by  that  I  never  understood. 

He  was  so  eager  to  start  upon  the  journey  that  he  would 
not  wait  a  moment.  The  horses  must  be  saddled  ;  we  must 
mount  and  away  .  Not  that  they  were  Sir  Christopher's  horses 
which  we  borrowed  ;  this  also  was  noted  afterwards  for  the 
ruin  of  that  good  old  man,  with  other  particulars  :  as  that 
Monmouth's  declaration  was  found  in  the  house  (Barnaby 
brought  it  )  ;  one  of  Monmouth's  captains,  Barnaby  Eykin 
by  name,  had  ridden  from  Lyme  to  Bradford  in  order  to  see 
him  ;  he  was  a  friend  of  the  preacher  Dr.  Eykin  ;  he  was 
grandfather  to  one  of  the  rebels  and  grand-uncle  to  another  , 
with  many  other  things.      But  these  were  enough. 

"Surely,  surely,  friend, "  said  Sir  Christopher,  "thou  wilt 
not  take  wife  and  daughter  .?  They  cannot  help  the  cause  ; 
they  have  no  place  in  a  camp." 

"  Young  men  and  idens  :  one  with  another.  Quick  I 
we  waste  the  time. " 

"  And  to  ride  all  night,  consider,  man — all  night  long  !  " 

"  What  is  a  night  }  They  will  have  all  eternity  to 
rest  in." 

"  He  hath  set  his  heart  upon  it,"  said  my  mother.  "  Let 
us  go  ;  a  night's  uneasiness  will  not  do  much  harm.  Let 
us  go,  Sir  Christopher,  without  further  parley. " 

"  Go  then,  in  the  name  of  God,"  said  the  old  man. 
"Child,  give  me  a  kiss."  Pie  took  me  in  his  arms  and  kissed 
me  on  the  forehead.  "Thou  art,  then,"  he  said  tenderly, 
"devoted  to  the  Protestant  cause.  Why,  thou  art  already 
promised  to  a  Protestant  since  this  morning  :  forget  not  that 
promise,  child.  Humphrey  and  Barnaby  will  i^rotcct  thee — ■ 
and — " 

"  Sir."  said  Robin,  "by  your  leave,  I  alone  have  the  right 
V)  i^o  wj'th  her  and  to  protect  her. " 


I02  I-'OR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM: 

"Nay,  Robin,"  I  said,  "stay  here  until  Sir  Christopher 
himself  bids  thee  go.  That  will  be  very  soon.  Remember 
thy  promise.  We  did  not  know,  Robin,  an  hour  ago  that 
the  promise  would  be  claimed  so  soon.  Robin  " — for  he 
murmured — "  I  charge  thee,  remain  at  home  until — " 

"  I  promise  thee  sweetheart."  But  he  hung  his  head  and 
looked  ashamed. 

Sir  Christopher,  holding  my  hand,  stepped  forth  upon  the 
grass  and  looked  upward  into  the  clear  sky,  where  in  the 
transparent  twilight  we  could  see  a  few  stars  twinkling. 

"This,  Friend  Eykin — this,  Humphrey,"  he  said,  gravely, 
"  is  a  solemn  night  for  all.  No  more  fateful  day  hath  ever 
come  to  any  of  us  ;  no  !  not  that  day  when  I  join  Hamp- 
den's new  regiment  and  followed  with  the  army  of  Lord 
Essex.  Granted  that  we  have  a  righteous  cause,  we  know 
not  that  our  leader  hath  in  him  the  root  of  the  matter.  To 
rise  against  the  kmg  is  a  most  weighty  matter — fatal  if  it  fail, 
a  dangerous  precedent  if  it  succeed.  Civil  war  is,  of  all 
wars,  the  most  grievous  ;  to  fight  under  a  leader  who  doth 
not  live  after  the  laws  of  God  is,  methinks,  most  danger- 
ous. The  duke  hath  lit  a  torch  which  will  spread  flames 
everywhere — " 

"It  is  the  voice  of  the  Lord  which  calleth  us  !  "  my  father 
interrupted.  "To-morrow  I  shall  speak  again  to  God's 
elect." 

"  Sir,"  said  Humphrey,  very  seriously,  "  I  pray  you  think 
not  that  this  enterprise  hath  been  rashly  entered  upon,  nor 
that  we  depend  upon  the  judgment  of  the  duke  alone.  It 
is,  unhappily,  true  that  his  life  is  sinful,  and  so  is  that  of 
Lord  Grey,  who  hath  deserted  his  lawful  wife  for  her  sister. 
But  those  who  have  pushed  on  the  enterprise  consider  that 
the  duke  is,  at  least,  a  true  Protestant.  They  have,  more- 
over, received  solid  assurances  of  support  from  every 
quarter.  You  have  been  kept  in  the  dark  from  the  begin- 
ning at  my  own  earnest  request,  because,  though  I  knew 
full  well  your  opinion,  I  would  not  trouble  your  peace  or 
endanger  your  person.  Suffer  us,  then,  to  depart,  and,  for 
yourself,  do  nothing  ;  and  keep — oh  !  sir,  I  entreat  you — 
keep  Robin  at  home  until  our  success  leaves  no  room  for 
doubt." 

"Go,  then,  go,"  said  Sir  Christopher;  "  I  have  grievoui; 
misgivings  that  all  is  not  well.  But  go,  and  Heaven  bless 
the  cause  !  " 

Robin  kissed  me,  whispering  that  he  would  follow,  and 
that  before  many  days  :  and  so  we  mounted  and  rode  forth. 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 


103 


In  such  hot  haste  did  we  depart  that  we  took  with  us  no 
change  of  raiment  er  any  provision  for  the  journey  at  all, 
save  that  Barnaby,  who,  as  1  afterwards  found,  never  forgot 
the  provisions,  found  time  to  get  together  a  small  parcel  of 
bread  and  meat,  and  a  flask  of  Malmsey,  with  which  to 
refresh  our  spirits  later  on.  We  even  rode  away  without 
any  money. 

My  father  rode  one  horse  and  my  mother  sat  behind  him  ; 
then  I  followed,  Barnaby  marching  manfully  beside  me,  and 
Humphrey  rode  last.  The  ways  are  rough,  so  that  those 
who  ride,  even  by  daylight,  go  but  slowly  ;  and  we  riding 
between  high  hedges,  went  much  too  slowly  for  my  father, 
who,  if  he  spoke  at  all,  cried  out  impatiently,  "Quicker  ! 
quicker  !  we  lose  the  time." 

He  sat  bending  over  the  horse's  head,  with  rounded 
shoulders,  his  feet  sticking  out  on  either  side,  his  long  white 
hair  and  his  ragged  cassock  floating  in  the  wind.  In  his 
left  hand  he  carried  his  Bible  as  a  soldier  carries  his  sword  ; 
on  his  head  he  wore  the  black  silk  cap  in  which  he  daily 
sat  at  work.  He  was  praying  and  meditating  ;  he  was 
preparing  the  sermon  which  he  would  deliver  in  the 
morning. 

Barnaby  plodded  on  beside  me  ;  night  or  day  made  no 
"difference  to  him.  He  slept  when  he  could,  and  worked 
when  he  must.  Sailors  keep  their  watch  day  and  night 
without  any  difference. 

"It  was  Sir  Christopher  that  I  came  after,"  he  told  me 
presently.  "Mr.  Dare — who  hath  since  been  killed  by  Mr. 
Fletcher — told  the  duke  that  if  Sir  Christopher  Challis  would 
only  come  into  camp,  old  as  he  is,  the  country  gentlemen 
of  his  opinions  would  follow  to  a  man,  so  respected  is  he. 
Well,  he  will  not.  But  we  have  his  nephew,  Humphrey  ; 
and,  if  I  mistake  not,  we  shall  have  his  grandson — if  kisses 
mean  anything.  So  Robin  is  thy  sweetheart,  sister  ;  thou 
art  a  lucky  girl.  And  we  shall  have  dad  to  preach.  Well. 
I  know  not  what  will  happen,  but  some  will  be  knocked  o' 
tne  head,  and  if  dad  goes  in  the  way  of  knocks —  But  what- 
everhappens,  he  will  get  his  tongue  again,  and  so  he  will 
be  happy. " 

"As  for  preaching,"  he  went  on,  speaking  with  due 
pauses,  because  there  was  no  hurry  and  he  was  never  one 
of  those  whose  words  flow  easily,  "if  he  thinks  to  preach 
daily,  as  they  say  was  done  in  Cromwell's  time,  1  doubt  if 
he  will  find  many  to  listen,  for  by  the  look  of  the  fellows 
who  are  crowding  into  canu)  they  will  love  the  clinking  of 


I04  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

the  can  better  than  the  division  of  the  text.  But  if  he  cause 
his  friends  to  join  he  will  be  welcomed  ;  and  for  devoting 
his  wife  and  daughter,  that,  sister,  with  submission,  is  rank 
nonsense,  and  the  sooner  you  get  out  of  the  camp,  if  you 
must  go  there,  the  better.  Women  aboard  ship  are  bad 
enough,  but  in  camp  they  are  the  devil." 

"Barnaby,  speak  not  lightly  of  the  Evil  One." 
"Where  shall  we  bestow  you  when  the  fighting  comes.-' 
Well,  it  shall  be  in  some  safe  place." 

"Oh,  Barnaby  !  will  there  be  fighting  ?  " 
"  Good  lack,  child  !  what  else  will  there  be  .''  " 
"As  the   walls  of  Jericho  fell  down  at  the  blast  of  the 
trumpet,  so  the  king's  armies  will  be  dispersed  at  the  ap- 
proach of  the  Lord's  soldiers." 

"That  was  a  long  time  ago,  sister.  There  is  now  no 
trumpet-work  employed  in  war,  and  no  priests  on  the  march  ; 
but  plenty  of  fighting  to  be  done  before  anything  is  accom- 
plished. But  have  no  fear.  The  country  is  rising.  They 
are  sick  at  heart  already  of  a  popish  king.  I  say  not  that  it 
will  be  easy  work  ;  but  it  can  be  done,  and  it  will  be  done, 
before  we  all  sit  down  again. " 

"And  what  will  happen  when  it  is  done  ?  " 
"Truly,  I  know  not.  When  one  king  is  sent  a-packing 
they  put  up  another,  I  suppose.  My  father  shall  have  the 
biggest  church  in  the  country  to  preach  in  ;  Humphrey  will 
be  made  physician  to  the  new  king — nothing  less  ;  you  shall 
marry  Robin,  and  he  shall  be  made  a  duke  or  a  lord  at  least  ; 
and  I  shall  have  command  of  the  biggest  ship  in  the  king's 
navy,  and  go  to  fight  the  Spaniards,  or  to  trade  for  negroes 
on  the  Guinea  coast." 

"And  suppose  the  duke  should  be  defeated?  " 
"Well,  sister,  if  he  is  defeated  it  will  go  hard  with  all  of 
us.  Those  who  are  caught  will  be  stabbed  with  a  Bridport 
dagger,  as  they  say.  Ask  not  such  a  question  ;  as  well  ask 
a  sailor  what  will  happen  to  him  if  his  ship  is  cast  away. 
Some  may  escape  in  boats  and  some  by  swimming,  and 
some  are  drowned,  and  some  are  cast  upon  savage  shores. 
Every  man  must  take  his  chance.  Never  again  ask  such  a 
question.  Nevertheless,  I  fear  my  father  will  get  his  neck 
as  far  in  the  noose  as  I  myself  But  remember,  sister,  do 
you  and  my  mother  keep  snug.  Let  others  carry  on  the 
rebellion,  do  you  keep  snug.  For,  d'ye  see,  a  man  takes 
his  chance,  and  if  there  should  happen  a  defeat  and  the 
rout  of  these  country  lads,  I  could  e'en  scud  by  myself  be- 
fore  the  gale,  and  maybe  gel  to  u  seaport  an4  so  aboar4»nrl 


ton  FAITJI  A\D  J'KEMDOM.  I05 

away  while  the  chase  was  hot.  But  for  a  woman — keep 
snug,  I  say,  therefore." 

The  night,  happily,  was  clear  and  fine.  A  slight  breeze 
was  blowing  from  the  northwest,  which  made  one  shiver, 
yet  it  was  not  too  cold.  I  heard  the  screech-owl  once  or 
twice,  which  caused  me  to  tremble  more  than  the  cold. 
The  road,  when  we  left  the  highway,  which  is  not  often 
mended  in  these  parts,  became  a  narrow  lane  full  of  holes 
and  deep  ruts,  or  else  a  track  across  open  country.  But 
Barnaby  knew  the  way. 

It  was  about  ten  of  the  clock  when  we  began  our  journey, 
and  it  was  six  in  the  morning  when  we  finished  it.  I  sup- 
pose there  are  few  women  who  can  boast  of  having  taken 
so  long  a  ride  and  in  the  night.  Yet,  strange  to  say,  I  felt 
no  desire  to  sleep  ;  nor  was  I  wearied  with  the  jogging  of 
ihe  horse,  but  was  sustained  by  something  of  the  spirit  of 
my  father.  A  wonderful  thing  it  seemed  to  me  that  a  simple 
country  maid,  such  as  myself,  should  help  in  putting  down 
the  Catholic  king  ;  women  there  have  been  who  have  played 
great  parts  in  history — Jael,  Deborah,  Judith,  and  Esther, 
for  example  ;  but  that  I  should  be  called  (since  then  I  have 
discovered  that  I  was  not  called),  this,  indeed,  seemed  truly 
wonderful.  Then  I  was  going  forth  to  witness  the  array  of 
a  gallant  army  about  to  fight  for  freedom  and  for  religion, 
just  as  they  were  arrayed  forty  years  before,  when  Sif 
Christopher  was  a  young  man  and  rode  among  them. 

My  brother,  this  stout  Barnaby,  was  one  of  them  ;  my 
father  was  one  of  them  ;  Humphrey  was  one  of  them  ;  and 
in  a  little  while  I  was  very  sure  (because  Robin  would  feel 
no  peace  of  mind  if  I  was  with  the  insurgents  and  he  was 
still  at  home),  my  lover  would  be  with  them  too.  And  I 
pictured  to  myself  a  holy  and  serious  camp,  filled  with  godly 
sober  soldiers  listening  to  sermons  and  reading  the  Bible, 
going  forth  to  battle  with  hymns  upon  their  lips  ;  and  withal 
>o  valiant  that  at  their  very  first  onset  the  battalions  of  the 
king  would  be  shattered.  Alas  !  any  one  may  guess  the 
foolish  thoughts  of  a  girl  who  had  no  knowledge  of  the 
world  nor  any  experience.  Yet  all  my  life  I  have  been 
taught  that  resistance  was  at  times  a  sacred  duty,  and  that 
the  divine  right  of  the  (so-called)  Lord's  Anointed  was  a 
vain  superstition.  So  far,  therefore,  was  I  better  prepared 
than  most  women  for  the  work  in  hand. 

When  we  rode  through  Sherborne  all  the  folk  were  a-bed 
and  the  streets  were  empty.  From  Sherborne  our  way  lay 
through   Yetminster  and  Evershott  to  Beaminster,    wkert 


106  i^OR  FAITH  AKD  FREEDOM. 

we  watered  and  rested  the  horses,  and  took  some  of  Bar- 
naby's  provisions.  The  country  through  which  we  rode 
was  full  of  memories  of  the  last  great  war.  The  Castle  of 
Sherborne  was  twice  besieged  ;  once  by  Lord  Bedford, 
when  the  Marquis  of  Hertford  held  it  for  the  king.  That 
siege  was  raised  ;  but  it  was  afterwards  taken  by  Fairfax, 
with  its  garrison  of  six  hundred  soldiers,  and  was  then  de- 
stroyed, so  that  it  is  now  a  heap  of  ruins  ;  and  as  for  Bea- 
minster,  the  town  hath  never  recovered  from  the  great  fire 
when  Prince  Maurice  held  it,  and  it  is  still  half  in  ruins', 
though  the  ivy  hath  gro-\vn  over  the  blackened  walls  of  the 
burned  houses.  The  last  great  war  of  which  I  had  heard  so 
much  !  And  now,  perhaps,  we  were  about  to  begin  another. 
It  was  two  o'clock  in  the  morning  when  we  dismounted 
at  Beaminster.  My  mother  sat  down  upon  a  bench  and 
fell  instantly  asleep.  My  father  walked  up  and  down  im- 
patiently, as  grudging  every  minute.  Barnaby,  for  his  part, 
made  a  leisurely  and  comfortable  meal,  eating  his  bread 
and  meat— of  which  I  had  some — and  drinking  his  Malmsey 
with  relish,  as  if  we  were  on  a  journey  of  pleasure  and  there 
was  plenty  of  time  for  leisurely  feeding.  Presently  he  arose 
with  a  sigh  (the  food  and  wine  being  all  gone),  and  said 
that  the  horses,  being  now  rested,  we  might  proceed.  So 
he  lifted  my  mother  into  her  seat  and  we  went  on  with  the 
journey,  the  day  now  breaking. 

The  way,  I  say,  was  never  tedious  to  me,  for  I  \vas  sus- 
tained by  the  novelty  and  the  strangeness  of  the  thing.  Al- 
though I  had  a  thousand  things  to  ask  Barnaby,  it  must  be 
confessed  that  for  one  who  had  travelled  so  far  he  had  mar- 
vellous little  to  tell.  I  dare  say  that  the  deck  and  cabins  of 
a  ship  are  much  the  same  whether  she  be  on  the  Spanish 
]\Iain  or  in  the  Bristol  Channel,  and  sailors,  even  in  port, 
are  never  an  observant  race,  except  of  weather  and  so  forth. 
It  was  strange,  however,  only  to  look  upon  him  and  to 
mark  how  stout  a  man  he  was  grown  and  how  strong,  and 
yet  how  he  still  spoke  like  the  old  Barnaby,  so  good-natured 
and  so  dull  with  his  book,  who  was  daily  flogged  for  his 
Latin  grammar,  and  bore  no  malice,  but  prepared  himself 
to  enjoy  the  present  when  the  flogging  was  over,  and  not 
to  anticipate  the  certain  repetition  of  the  flogging  on  the 
morrow.  He  spoke  in  the  same  slow  way,  as  if  speech 
were  a  thing  too  precious  to  be  poured  out  quickly  ;  and 
there  was  always  sense  in  what  he  said  (Barnaby  was  only 
stupid  in  the  matter  of  syntax),  though  he  gave  me  not  such 
answers  as  I  could  have  wished.      However,  he  confessed. 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  lof 

little  by  little,  something  of  his  history  and  adventures. 
When  he  ran  away,  it  was,  as  we  thought,  to  the  port  of 
Bristol,  where  he  presently  found  a  berth  as  cabin-boy  on 
board  a  West-Indiaman.  In  this  enviable  post — everybody 
on  board  has  a  cuff  or  a  kick  or  a  rope's-end  for  the  boy — 
he  continued  for  some  time.  "But,"  said  Earnaby,  "you 
are  not  to  think  that  the  rope's-end  was  half  so  bad  as  my 
father's  rod  ;  nor  the  captain's  oath  so  bad  as  my  father's 
rebuke  ;  nor  the  rough  work  and  hard  fare  so  bad  as  the 
Latin  syntax."  Being  so  strong,  and  a  hearty,  willing  lad 
to  boot,  he  was  quickly  promoted  to  be  an  able  seaman, 
when  there  were  no  more  rope's-endings  for  him.  Then, 
having  an  ambition  above  his  station,  and  not  liking  his 
rude  and  ignorant  companions  of  the  fo'k'sle  (which  is  the 
forepart  of  a  ship,  where  the  common  sailors  sleep  and  eat), 
and  being  so  fortunate  as  to  win  the  good  graces  of  the 
supercargo  first  and  of  the  captain  next,  he  applied  his  leis- 
ure time  (when  he  had  any  leisure)  to  the  method  of  taking 
observations,  of  calculating  longitudes  and  latitudes,  his 
knowledge  of  arithmetic  having  fortunately  stuck  in  his 
mind  longer  than  that  of  Latin.  These  things,  I  understand, 
are  of  the  greatest  use  to  a  sailor  and  necessary  to  an  ofiicer. 
Armed  with  this  knowledge,  and  the  recommendation  of  his 
superiors,  Barnaby  was  promoted  from  before  the  mast  and 
became  what  they  call  a  mate,  and  so  rose  by  degrees  until 
he  was  at  last  second  captain.  But  by  this  time  he  had 
made  many  voyages  to  the  West  Indies,  to  New  York  and 
Baltimore,  and  to  the  West  Coast  of  Africa  in  the  service  of 
his  owners,  and,  I  dare  say,  had  procured  much  wealth  for 
them,  though  but  little  for  himself.  And  being  at  Rotterdam 
upon  his  owners'  business,  he  was  easily  persuaded — being 
always  a  stout  Protestant,  and  desirous  to  strike  a  blow  in 
revenge  for  the  ejection  of  his  father — to  engage  as  second 
captain  on  board  the  frigate  which  brought  over  the  Duke 
of  Monmouth  and  his  company,  and  then  to  join  him  ou 
his  landing.  This  was  the  sum  of  what  he  had  to  tell  me. 
He  had  seen  many  strange  people,  wonderful  things,  and 
monsters  of  the  deep;  Indians,  whom  the  cruelty  and 
avarice  of  the  Spaniards  have  well-nigh  destroyed,  the  sugar 
plantations  in  tlie  islands,  negro  slaves,  negroes  free  in  their 
own  country,  sharks  and  calamaries,  of  which  I  had  read 
and  heard — he  had  seen  all  these  things,  and  still  remained 
(in  his  mind,  I  mean)  as  if  he  had  sc<mi  nothing.  So  won- 
derfully made  are  some  men's  mmds  tkat  whatever  they  soc 
they_«re  in  U9vny  moved. 


108  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

I  say,  then,  that  Barnaby  answered  my  questions,  as  w«, 
rode  along,  briefly,  and  as  if  such  matters  troubled  him  not. 
When  I  asked  him,  for  example,  how  the  poor  miserable 
slaves  liked  being  captured  and  sold  and  put  on  board  ship 
crowded  together  for  so  long  a  voyage,  Barnaby  replied  thai 
he  did  not  know,  his  business  being  to  buy  them  and  carry 
them  across  the  water,  and  if  they  rebelled  on  board  ship 
to  shoot  them  down  or  flog  them  ;  and  when  they  got  to 
Jamaica  to  sell  them  :  where,  if  they  would  not  work,  they 
would  be  flogged  until  they  came  to  a  better  mind.  It 
a  man  was  born  a  negro,  what  else,  he  asked,  could  he  ex- 
pect? 

There  was  one  question  which  I  greatly  desired  to  ask 
him,  but  dared  not.  It  concerned  the  welfare  of  his  soul. 
Presently,  however,  Barnaby  answered  that  question  before 
I  put  it. 

"  Sister, "  he  said,  "my  mother's  constant  affliction  con- 
cerning me,  before  I  ran  away,  was  as  to  the  salvation  of  my 
soul.  And  truly,  that  seems  to  me  so  difficult  a  thing  to 
compass  (like  navigation  to  an  unknown  port  over  an  un- 
known sea  set  everywhere  with  hidden  rocks  and  liable  to 
sudden  gusts)  that  I  cannot  understand  how  a  plain  man 
can  ever  succeed  in  it.  Wherefore  it  comforted  me  mightily 
after  I  got  to  sea  to  learn  on  good  authority  that  there  is  an- 
other way,  which,  compared  with  my  father's,  is  light  and 
easy.  In  short,  sister,  though  he  knows  it  not,  there  is  one 
religion  for  lands-folk  and  another  for  sailor-folk.  A  sailor 
(everybody  knows)  cannot  get  so  much  as  a  sail  bent  with- 
out cursing  and  swearing — this,  which  is  desperately  wicked 
ashore,  counts  for  nothing  at  all  afloat  :  and  so  with  many 
other  things ;  and  the  long  and  the  short  of  it  is  that  if  a 
sailor  does  his  duty,  fights  his  ship  like  a  man,  is  true  to 
his  owners  and  faithful  to  his  messmates,  it  matters  not  one 
straw  whether  he  hath  daily  sworn  great  oaths,  drunk  him- 
self (whenever  he  went  ashore)  as  helpless  as  a  log,  and 
kissed  a  pretty  girl  whenever  his  good  luck  gave  him  a 
chance — which  does,  indeed,  seldom  come  to  most  sailors  '' 
— he  added  this  with  a  deep  sigh — "I  say,  sister,  that  for 
such  a  sailor,  when  his  ship  goes  down  with  him,  or  when 
he  gets  a  grapeshot  through  his  vitals,  or  when  he  dies  of 
fever,  as  happens  often  enough  in  the  hot  climates,  there  is 
no  question  as  to  the  safety  of  his  soul,  but  he  goes  straight 
to  heaven.  What  he  is  ordered  to  do  when  he  gets  there," 
said  Barnaby,  "I  cannot  say;  but  it  will  be  something,  I 
doubt  not,  that  a  sailor  will  like  to  do.     V/hercfoie,  lister. 


tVR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  \o% 

you  can  set  my  mother's  heart — poor  soul ! — quite  at  rest 
on  this  important  matter.  You  can  tell  her  that  you  have 
conversed  with  me,  and  that  I  have  that  very  same  inward 
assurance  of  which  my  father  speaks  so  much  and  at  such 
length.  The  very  same  assurance  it  is — tell  her  that  And 
beg  her  to  ask  me  no  questions  upon  the  matter." 

"Well,  Barnaby  ;  but  art  thou  sure — " 

"  It  is  a  heavenly  comfort,"  he  replied,  before  I  hf-d  time 
to  finish,  *' to  have  such  an  assurance.  For  why.?  A  man 
that  hath  it  doth  never  more  trouble  himself  aboat  what 
shall  happen  to  him  after  he  is  dead.  Therefore  he  goes 
about  his  duty  with  an  easy  mind ;  and  so,  sister,  no  more 
upon  this  head,  if  you  love  me  and  desire  peace  C^  mind 
for  my  mother." 

So  nothing  more  was  said  upon  that  subject  then  or  after- 
wards. A  sailor  to  be  exempted  by  right  of  his  calling  from 
the  religion  of  the  landsman  !  'Tis  a  strange  and  danger- 
ous doctrine.  But  if  all  sailors  believe  it,  yet  how  can  it  be? 
This  question,  I  confess,  is  too  high  for  me.  And  as  for 
my  mother,  I  gave  her  Barnaby's  message,  begging  her  at 
the  same  time  not  to  question  him  further.  And  she  sighed 
but  obeyed. 

Presently  Barnaby  asked  me  if  we  had  any  money. 

I  had  none,  and  I  knew  that  my  mother  could  have  but 
little.  Of  course,  my  father  never  had  any.  I  doubt  if  he 
had  possessed  a  single  penny  since  his  ejection. 

"Well,"  said  Barnaby,  "I  thought  to  give  my  money  to 
mother.  But  I  now  perceive  that  if  she  has  it  she  will  give 
it  to  dad  ;  and  if  he  has  it,  he  will  give  it  all  to  the  duke  for 
the  cause — wherefore,  sister,  do  you  take  it  and  keep  it,  not 
for  me,  but  to  be  expended  as  seemeth  you  best."  He 
lugged  out  of  his  pocket  a  heavy  bag.  "Here  is  all  the 
money  I  have  saved  in  ten  years.  Nay — I  am  not  as  some 
sailors,  one  that  cannot  keep  a  penny  in  purse,  but  must 
needs  fling  all  away.  Here  are  two  hundred  and  fifty  gold 
pieces.  Take  them,  sister.  Hang  the  bag  round  thy  neck, 
and  never  part  with  it,  day  or  night.  And  say  nothing 
about  the  money  either  to  mother  or  to  dad,  for  he  will  as- 
suredly do  with  it  as  I  have  said.  A  time  may  come  when 
thou  wilt  want  it" 

Two  hundred  and  fifty  gold  pieces  I  Was  it  possrble  that 
Barnaby  could  be  so  rich?  I  took  the  bag  and  hung  it  round 
my  waist — not  my  neck — by  the  string  which  he  had  tied 
above  the  neck,  and,  as  it  was  covered  by  my  mantl%  »•■ 


lie  I'OR  FA/TJI  AXD  FREEDO.\f. 

body  ever  suspected  that  I  had  this  treasure.  In  the  end, 
as  you  shall  hear,  it  was  useful. 

It  was  now  broad  daylight,  and  the  sun  was  up.  As  we 
drew  near  Bridport  there  stood  a  man  in  the  road  armed 
with  a  halbert. 

"Whither  go  ye,  good  people  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Friend,"  said  Barnaby,  flourishing  his  oaken  staff,  "we 
ride  upon  our  own  business.  Stand  aside,  or  thou  mayest 
henceforth  have  no  more  business  to  do  upon  this 
earth  ! ' 

*'  Ride  on  then — ride  on,"  he  replied,  standing  aside  with 
great  meekness.  This  was  one  of  the  guards  whom  they 
posted  everywhere  upon  the  roads  in  order  to  stop  the  peo- 
ple who  were  flocking  to  the  camp.  In  this  way  many 
were  sent  back,  and  many  were  arrested  on  their  way  to 
join  Monmouth. " 

Now,  as  we  drew  near  to  Bridport,  the  time  being  about 
four  o'clock,  we  heard  the  firing  of  guns  and  a  great  shout- 
ing. 

"They  have  begun  the  fighting,"  said  Barnaby.  "I  knew 
it  would  not  be  long  a-coming. " 

It  was.  in  fact,  their  first  engagement,  when  the  Dorset- 
shire militia  were  driven  out  of  Bridport  by  the  duke's 
troops,  and  there  would  have  been  a  signal  victory  at  the 
very  outset  but  for  the  cowardice  of  Lord  Grey,  who  ran 
away  with  the  horse. 

Well,  it  was  a  strange  and  a  wonderful  thing  to  think  that 
flose  at  hand  were  men  killing  each  other  on  the  Sabbath  ; 
yea,  and  some  lying  wounded  on  the  roads  ;  and  that  civil 
war  had  again  begun. 

"Let  us  push  on,"  said  Humphrey,  "out  of  the  way  of 
these  troops.  They  are  but  country  lads  all  of  them.  If 
they  retreat  they  will  run  ;  and  if  they  run  they  will  be 
seized  with  a  panic,  and  will  run  all  the  way  back  to  Lyme 
trampling  on  everything  that  is  in  the  road." 

This  was  sound  advice,  which  we  followed,  taking  an 
upper  track  which  brought  us  into  the  high-road  a  mile  or  so 
nearer  Charmouth. 

I  do  not  think  there  can  be  anywhere  a  finer  road  than 
that  which  runs  from  Charmouth  to  Lyme.  It  runneth  over 
high  hills  sometimes  above  the  sea  which  rolls  far  below, 
and  sometimes  above  a  great  level  inland  plain,  the  name 
of  which  I  have  forgotten.  The  highest  of  the  hills  is  called 
Golden  Cap  ;  the  reason  why  was  plainly  shown  this 
morning  when  the  sky  was  clea^  and  the  sun  was  shining 


lOK  FAITH  Ai\'D  FREEDOM.  1 1  j 

from  the  southeast  full  upon  this  tall  pico.  When  we  got 
into  this  road  we  found  it  fuh  of  young  fellows,  lusty  and 
well  conditioned,  all  marching,  running,  walking,  shouting, 
and  singing  on  their  way  to  join  IMonmouth.  Some  were 
adorned  with  flowers,  some  wore  the  blue  favor  of  the  duke 
some  had  cockades  in  their  hats,  and  some  again  were  armed 
with  musket  or  with  sword ;  some  carried  pikes,  some 
knives  tied  on  to  long  poles,  some  had  nothing  but  thick 
cudgels,  which  they  brandished  valiantly.  At  sight  of 
these  brave  fellows  my  father  lifted  his  head  and  waved  his 
hand,  crying  "  A  Monmouth  !  a  Monmouth  !  Follow  me, 
brave  lads  !  "just  as  if  he  had  been  a  captain  encouraging 
his  men  to  charge. 

The  church  of  Lyme  standeth  high  upon  .the  cliff  which 
faces  the  sea  ;  it  is  on  the  eastern  side  of  the  town,  and  be- 
fore you  get  to  the  church,  on  the  way  from  Charmouth, 
there  is  a  broad  field  also  on  the  edge  of  the  cliff.  It  was 
this  field  that  was  the  first  camp  of  Monmouth's  men.  There 
were  no  tents  for  the  men  to  lie  in,  but  there  were  wagons 
filled,  I  suppose,  with  munitions  of  war  ;  there  were  booths 
where  things  were  sold,  such  as  hot  sausages  fried  over  a 
charcoal  fire,  fried  fish,  lobsters  and  periwinkles,  cold  bacon 
and  pork,  bread,  cheese,  and  such  like,  and  barrels  of  beer 
and  cider  on  wooden  trestles.  The  men  were  haggling  for 
the  food  and  drink,  and  already  one  or  two  seemed  fuddled. 
Some  were  exercising  in  the  use  of  arms  ;  some  were  danc- 
ing, and  some  singing.  And  no  thought  or  respect  paid  at 
all  to  the  Sabbath.  Oh  !  was  this  the  pious  and  godly  camp 
which  I  had  expected. 

"Sister,"  said  Barnaby,  "this  is  a  godly  and  religious 
place  to  which  the  wisdom  of  dad  hath  brought  thee.  Per- 
haps he  meaneth  thee  to  lie  in  the  open  like  the  lads." 

"Where  is  the  duke  ?"  asked  my  father,  looking  wrath- 
fully  at  these  revellers  and  Sabbath-breakers. 

"  The  duke  lies  at  the  George  Inn,"  said  Barnaby.  "I 
will  show  the  way." 

In  the  blue  parlor  of  the  George  the  duke  was  at  that 
time  holding  a  council.  There  were  different  reports  as  to 
the  Bridport  affair.  Already  it  was  said  that  Lord  Gray 
was  unfit  I:)  lead  the  horse,  having  been  the  first  to  run 
away  ;  and  some  said  that  the  militia  were  driven  out  of 
the  town  in  a  panic,  and  some  that  they  made  a  stand  and 
that  our  mei%  had  fled.  I  know  not  what  was  the  truth,  and 
now  it  matters  little,  except  that  the  first  action  of  our  men 
brought  them  little  honor.     When  the  council  was  finished. 


tti  ^-'OA'  FA  J  Til  AXD  J-7^J£ED0M. 

the  duke  sent  word  that  he  would  receive  Dr.  Challis  (thai 
was  Humphrey)  and  Dr.  Comfort  Eykin. 

So  they  were  introduced  to  the  presence  of  his  grace,  and 
first  my  father — as  Humphrey  told  me — fell  into  a  kind  of 
ecstasy,  praising-  God  for  the  landing  of  the  duke,  and  fore- 
telling such  speedy  victory  as  would  lay  the  enemies  of  the 
country  at  his  feet.  He  then  drew  forth  a  roll  of  paper  in 
which  he  had  set  down,  for  the  information  of  the  duke, 
the  estimated  number  of  the  disaffected  in  every  town  of 
the  south  and  west  of  England,  with  the  names  of  such  as 
could  be  trusted  not  only  to  risk  their  own  bodies  and  estates 
in  the  cause,  but  would  stir  up  and  encourage  their  friends. 
There  were  so  many  on  these  lists  that  the  duke's  eyes 
brightened  as  he  read  them. 

"  Sir, "  he  said,  "if  these  reports  can  be  depended  upon 
we  are  indeed  made  men.  What  is  your  opinion.  Dr. 
Challis  ? " 

"  My  opinion,  sir,  is  that  these  are  the  names  of  friends 
and  well-wishers  ;  if  they  see  your  grace  well  supported  at 
the  outset  they  will  flock  in  ;  if  not,  many  of  them  will  stand 
aloof." 

"  Will  Sir  Christopher  join  me.?"  asked  the  duke. 

"  No,  sir  ;  he  is  now  seventy-five  years  of  age." 

Then  the  duke  turned  away.  Presently  he  returned  to  the 
lists  and  asked  many  questions. 

"Sir,"  said  my  father,  at  length,  "I  have  given  you  the 
names  of  all  that  I  know  who  are  well-affected  to  the  Prot- 
estant cause  ;  they  are  those  who  have  remained  faithful  to 
the  ejected  ministers.  Many  a  time  have  I  secretly 
preachcfi  to  them.  One  thing  is  wanting ;  the  assurance 
that  yo*ur  grace  will  bestow  upon  us  liberty  of  conscience 
and  freedom  of  worship.  Else  will  not  one  move  hand  or 
foot." 

"Why,"  said  the  duke,  "for  what  other  purpose  am  I 
come }  Assure  them,  good  friend,  assure  them  in  my 
name  ;  make  the  most  solemn  pledge  that  is  in  your  power 
and  in  mine." 

'  In  that  case,  sir,"  said  my  father,  "I  will  at  once  write 
letters  with  my  own  hand  to  the  brethren  everywhere. 
There  are  many  honest  country  lads  who  will  carry  the 
letters  by  ways  where  they  are  not  likely  to  be  arrested  and 
searched.  And  now,  sir,  I  pray  your  leave  to  preach  to 
these  your  soldiers.  They  are  at  present  drinking,  swear- 
ing, and  breaking  the  Sabbath.  The  campaign  which 
should  be  begun  with  prayer  and  huiBiiliation  for  the  »int 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 


115 


of  the  country  hath  been  begun  with  many  deadly  sins,  with 
merriment,  and  with  fooling-.  Suffer  me,  then,  to  preach  to 
them." 

"Preach,  by  all  means,"  said  the  duke.  "You  shall 
have  the  parish  church.  I  fear,  sir,  that  my  business  will 
not  suffer  me  to  have  the  edification  of  your  sermon,  but  I 
hope  that  it  will  tend  to  the  soberness  and  earnestness  o* 
my  men.  Forgive  them,  sir,  for  their  lightness  of  heart. 
They  are  for  the  most  part  young.  Encourage  them  by 
promises  rather  than  by  rebuke.  And  so,  sir,  for  this  oc- 
casion, farewell  !  " 

In  this  way  my  father  obtained  the  wish  of  his  heart, 
and  preached  once  more  in  a  church  before  the  people  who 
were  the  young  soldiers  of  Monmouth's  army. 

I  did  not  hear  that  sermon,  because  I  was  asleep.  It  was 
in  tones  of  thunder  that  my  father  preached  to  them.  He 
spoke  of  the  old  war,  and  the  brave  deeds  that  their  fathers 
had  done  under  Cromwell ;  theirs  was  the  victory.  Now, 
as  then,  the  victory  should  be  theirs,  if  they  carried  the  spirit 
of  faithfulness  into  battle.  He  warned  them  of  their  sins, 
sparing  none  ;  and,  in  the  end,  he  concluded  with  such  a 
denunciation  of  the  king  as  made  all  who  heard  it,  and  had 
been  taught  to  regard  the  king's  majesty  as  sacred,  open 
their  mouths  and  gape  upon  each  other  ;  for  then,  for  the 
first  time,  they  truly  understood  what  it  was  that  they  were 
engaged  to  do. 

While  my  father  waited  to  see  the  duke,  Barnaby  went 
about  looking  for  a  lodging.  The  town  is  small,  and  the 
houses  were  all  filled,  but  he  presently  found  a  cottage  (call 
it  rather  a  hut)  on  the  shore  beside  the  Cobb,  where,  on 
promise  of  an  extravagant  payment,  the  fisherman's  wife 
consented  to  give  up  her  bed  to  my  mother  and  myself 
Before  the  bargain  was  concluded,  I  had  laid  myself  down 
upon  it  and  was  sound  asleep. 

So  I  slept  the  whole  day  ;  though  outside  there  was  such 
a  trampling  on  the  beach,  such  a  landing  of  stores  and 
creaking  of  chains  as  might  have  awakened  the  Seven  Sleep- 
ers.     But  me  nothing  could  awaken. 

In  the  evening  I  woke  up  refreshed.  My  mother  was 
already  awake,  but  for  weariness  could  not  move  out  of  her 
chair.  The  good  woman  of  the  cottage,  a  kindly  soul, 
brought  me  rough  food  of  some  kind  with  a  drink  of  water 
— the  army  had  drunk  up  all  the  milk,  eaten  all  the  cheese, 
the  butter,  the  eggs,  and  the  pork,  beef,  and  mutton  in  the 
place.     And  then  Humj  ^rc^'  came  and  asked  if  I  would  go 


1 1 4  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

with  him  into  the  town  to  see  the  soldiers.  So  I  went,  and 
glad  I  was  to  see  the  sight.  But,  Lord  !  to  think  that  it  was 
the  Sabbath  evening.  For  the  main  street  of  Lyme  was  full 
of  men,  swaggering  with  long  swords  at  their  sides  and 
some  with  spears — feathers  in  their  hats  and  pistols  stuck 
in  their  belts,  all  were  talking  loud,  as  I  am  told  is  the  cus- 
lom  in  a  camp  of  soldiers.  Outside  the  George  there  was  a 
barrel  on  a  stand,  and  venders  and  drawers  ran  about  with 
cans,  fetching  and  carrying  the  liquor  for  which  the  men 
continually  called.  Then  at  the  door  of  the  George  there 
appeared  the  duke  himself  with  his  following  of  gentlemen. 
All  rose  and  huzzaed  while  the  duke  came  down  the  steps 
and  turned  towards  the  camp  outside  the  town. 

I  saw  his  face  very  well  as  he  passed.  Indeed,  I  saw  him 
many  times  afterwards,  and  I  declare  that  my  heart  sank 
when  first  I  gazed  upon  him  as  he  stood  upon  the  steps  of 
the  George  Inn.  For  on  his  face,  plain  to  read,  was  the 
sadness  of  coming  ruin.  I  say  I  knew  front  that  moment 
what  would  be  his  end.  Nay,  I  am  no  prophetess  nor  am 
I  a  witch  to  know  beforehand  the  counsels  of  the  Almighty  ; 
yet  the  Lord  hath  permitted  by  certain  signs  the  future  to 
become  apparent  to  those  who  know  how  to  read  them. 
In  the  Duke  of  Monmouth  the  signs  Avere  a  restless  and  un- 
easy eye,  on  air  of  preoccupation,  a  trembling  mouth,  and 
a  hesitating  manner.  There  M'as  in  him  nothing  of  the  con- 
fidence of  one  who  knows  that  fortune  is  about  to  smile 
upon  him.  This,  I  say,  was  my  first  thought  about  the 
duke,  and  the  first  thought  is  prophecy. 

There  sat  beside  the  benches  a  secretary,  or  clerK,  who 
took  down  the  names  of  recruits.  The  duke  stopped  and 
looked  on.  A  young  man  in  a  sober  suit  of  brown,  in  ap- 
pearance different  from  the  country  lads,  was  giving  in  his 
name. 

"  Daniel  Foe,  your  grace,"  said  the  clerk,  looking  up. 
"He  is  from  London." 

"From  London,"  the  duke  repeated.  "I  have  many 
friends  in  London.  I  expect  them  shortly.  Thou  art  a 
worthy  lad  and  deservest  encourag^ement "  So  he  passe4 
on  his  waj'. 


FOR  FAl  TH  AND  FJiEEDOM.  1 1 5 


CHAPTER   XVI. 

ON  THE    MARCH. 

At  daybreak,  next  morning-,  the  drums  began  to  beat  and 
the  trumpets  were  blown,  and  after  breakfast  the  newly 
raised  army  marched  out  in  such  order  as  was  possible.  1 
have  not  to  write  a  history  of  this  rebellion,  which  hath 
already  been  done  by  able  hands  ;  I  speak  only  of  what  I 
saw,  and  the  things  with  which  I  was  concerned. 

First,  then,  is  true  that  the  whole  country  was  quickly 
put  into  a  ferment  by  the  duke's  landing  ;  and  had  those 
who  planned  the  expedition  provided  a  proper  supply  of 
arms,  the  army  would  have  quickly  mustered  twenty  thou- 
sand men,  all  resolute  and  capable  of  meeting  any  force 
that  the  king  could  have  raised.  Nay,  it  would  have  grown 
and  swelled  as  it  moved.  But  there  were  not  enough  arms. 
Everything  promised  well  for  him.  But  there  were  no 
arms  for  half  those  who  came  in.  The  spirit  of  the  Devon 
and  Somerset  militia  was  lukewarm  ;  they  ran  at  Bridport, 
at  Axminster,  and  at  Chard  ;  nay,  some  of  them  even  de- 
serted to  join  the  duke.  There  were  thousands  scattered  about 
the  country — those,  namely,  who  still  held  to  the  doctrines 
of  the  persecuted  ministers,  and  those  who  abhorred  the 
Catholic  religion — who  wished  well  and  would  have  joined 
— Humphrey  knew  well-wishers  by  the  thousand  whose 
names  were  on  the  lists  in  Holland — but  how  could  they 
join  when  the  army  was  so  ill-found }  And  this  was  the 
principal  reason,  I  am  assured,  why  the  country  gentlemen 
did  not  come  in  at  first — because  there  were  no  arms.  How 
can  soldiers  fight  when  they  have  no  arms  ?  How  could 
the  duke  have  been  suffered  to  begin  with  so  scanty  a  pre- 
])aration  of  arms  .?  Afterwards,  when  Monmouth  proclaimed 
himself  king,  there  were,  perhaps,  other  reasons  why  the 
well-wishers  held  aloof.  Some  of  them,  certainly,  who 
were  known  to  be  friends  of  the  duke  (among  them  Mr. 
Prideaux,  of  Ford  Abbey)  were  arrested  and  thrown  into 
prison,  while  many  thousands  who  were  flocking  to  the 
standard  were  either  turned  back  or  seized  and  thrown  into 
prison. 

As  for  the  quality  of  the  troops  who  formed  the  army,  I 
know  nothing,  except  that  at  Sedgemoor  they  continued  to 
fig;ht  valiantly  after  their  leaders  had  fled.     Thejr  were  raw 


tt6  J'OR  }-AITH  AXD  FREEDOM. 

troops — mere  country  lads — and  their  officers  were,  for  the 
most  part,  simple  tradesmen  who  had  no  knowledge  of  the 
art  of  war.  Dare  the  younger  was  a  goldsmith ;  Captain 
Perrot  was  a  dyer  ;  Captain  Hucker,  a  maker  of  serge;  and 
so  on  with  all  of  them.  It  was  unfortunate  that  Mr.  Andrew 
Fletcher,  of  Saltoun,  should  have  killed  Mr.  Dare  the  elder 
on  the  first  day,  because,  as  everybody  agrees,  he  was  the 
most  experienced  soldier  in  the  whole  army.  The  route 
]-)roposed  by  the  duke  was  known  to  everybody.  He  in- 
tended to  march  through  Taunton,  Bridgwater,  and  Bristol 
to  Gloucester,  where  he  thought  he  would  be  joined  by  a 
new  army  raised  by  his  friends  in  Cheshire.  He  also 
reckoned  on  receiving  adherents  everywhere  on  the  road, 
and  on  easily  defeating  any  force  that  the  king  should  be 
able  to  send  against  him.  How  he  fared  in  that  scheme 
everybody  knows. 

Long  before  the  army  was  ready  to  march,  Humphrey 
came  to  advise  with  us.  First  of  all,  he  had  endeavored  to 
have  speech  with  my  father,  but  in  vain.  Henceforth  my 
father  seemed  to  have  no  thought  of  his  wife  and  daughter. 
Humphrey  at  first  advised  us  to  go  home  again.  "As  foi 
your  dedication  to  the  cause,"  he  said,  "I  think  that  he 
hath  already  forgotten  it,  seeing  that  it  means  nothing,  and 
that  your  presence  with  us  cannot  help.  Go  home,  madam, 
and  let  Grace  persuade  Robin  to  stay  at  home  in  order  to 
take  care  of  you." 

"  No,"  said  my  mother  ;  "  that  may  we  not  do.  I  mus) 
obey  my  husband,  who  commanded  us  to  follow  him. 
Whither  he  goeth  there  I  will  follow." 

Finding  that  she  was  resolute  upoii  this  point,  Humphrey 
told  us  that  the  duke  would  certaimy  march  upon  Taunton, 
where  more  than  half  of  the  town  were  his  friends.  He 
therefore  advised  that  we  should  ride  to  that  place — not 
following  the  army,  but  going  across  the  country,  most  of 
which  is  a  very  wild  and  desolate  part,  where  we  should 
have  no  fear  except  from  gypsies  and  such  wild  people,  who 
might  be  robbers  and  rogues,  but  who  were  all  now  making 
the  most  of  the  disturbed  state  of  the  country  and  running 
about  the  roads  plundering  and  thieving.  But  he  said  he 
would  himself  provide  us  with  a  guide,  one  who  knew  the 
way,  and  a  good  stout  fellow,  armed  with  a  cudgel,  at 
least.  To  this  my  mother  agreed,  fearing  to  anger  her 
husband  if  she  should  disturb  him  at  his  work  of  writing 
letters. 

Humphrey  had  little  trouble  in  finding  the  guide  for  us. 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 


117 


He  was  an  honest  lad  from  a  place  called  Holford,  in  the 
Quantock  Hills,  who,  finding  that  there  were  no  arms  for 
him,  was  going  home  again.  Unhappily,  when  we  got  to 
Taunton,  he  was  persuaded — partly  by  me,  alas  ! — to  re- 
main. He  joined  Barnaby's  company,  and  was  either 
killed  at  Sedgemoor,  or  one  of  those  hanged  at  Weston, 
Zoyland,  or  Bridgwater.  For  he  was  no  more  heard  of. 
This  business  settled,  we  went  up  to  the  churchyard  in 
order  to  see  the  march  of  the  army  out  of  camp.  And  a 
brave  show  the  gallant  soldiers  made. 

First  rode  Colonel  Wade  with  the  vanguard.  After  them, 
with  a  due  interval,  rode  the  greater  part  of  the  Horse,  al- 
ready three  hundred  strong,  under  Lord  Grey  of  Wark. 
Among  them  was  the  company  sent  by  Mr.  Speke,  of  White 
Lackington,  forty  very  stout  fellows,  well  armed  and 
mounted  on  cart-horses.  The  main  army  was  composed  of 
four  regiments.  The  first  was  the  Blue  Regiment,  or  the 
duke "s  own,  whose  colonel  was  the  aforesaid  Wade.  They 
formed  the  van,  and  were  seven  hundred  strong.  The 
others  were  the  White,  commanded  by  Colonel  Foukes,  the 
Green  by  Colonel  Holmes,  and  the  Yellow  by  Colonel  Fox. 
All  these  regiments  were  fully  armed,  the  men  wearing 
favors  or  rosettes  in  their  hats  and  on  their  arms  of  the 
color  from  which  their  regiment  was  named. 

The  duke  himself,  who  rode  a  great  white  horse,  was 
surrounded  by  a  small  bodyguard  of  gentlemen  (afterwards 
they  became  a  company  of  forty),  richly  dressed  and  well 
mounted.  With  him  were  carried  the  colors,  embroidered 
with  the  words  "Pro  Religione  et  Libertate. "  This  was 
the  second  time  that  I  had  seen  the  duke,  and  again  I  felt 
at  sight  of  his  face  the  foreknowledge  of  coming  woe.  On 
such  an  occasion  the  chief  should  show  a  gallant  mien  and 
a  face  of  cheerful  hope.  The  duke,  however,  looked 
g-loomy,  and  hung  his  head. 

Truly,  it  seemed  to  me  as  if  no  force  could  dare  so  much 
as  to  meet  this  great  and  invincible  army.  And  certainly 
there  could  nowhere  be  gathered  together  a  more  stalwart 
set  of  soldiers,  nearly  all  young  men,  and  full  of  spirit. 
They  shouted  and  sang  as  they  marched.  Presently  there 
passed  us  my  brother  Barnaby,  with  his  company  of  the 
Green  Regiment.  It  was  easy  to  perceive  by  the  handling 
of  his  arms  and  by  his  bearing  that  he  was  accustomed  to 
act  with  others,  and  already  he  had  so  instructed  his  men 
that  they  set  an  example  to  the  rest  both  in  their  orderliness 
of  march  and  the  carriage  of  their  weapon^, 


1 1 8  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

After  the  main  army  they  carried  the  ordnance — foul 
small  cannon — and  the  ammunition  in  wagons  with  guards 
and  horsemen.  Lastly  there  rode  those  who  do  not  fight, 
yet  belong  to  the  army.  These  were  the  chaplain  to  the 
army.  Dr.  Hooke,  a  grave  clergyman  of  the  Church  of  Eng- 
land :  Mr.  Ferguson,  the  duke's  private  chaplain,  a  fiery 
person,  of  whom  many  hard  things  have  been  said,  which 
here  concern  us  not  ;  and  my  father,  who  thus  rode  openly 
with  the  other  two,  in  order  that  the  Nonconformists  might 
be  encouraged  by  his  presence,  as  an  equal  with  the  two 
chaplains.  He  was  clad  in  a  new  cassock,  obtained  I  know 
not  whence.  He  sat  upright  in  the  saddle,  a  Bible  in  his 
hand,  the  long  white  locks  lying  on  his  shoulders  like  a 
peruke,  but  more  venerable  than  any  wig.  His  thin  face 
was  flushed  with  the  joy  of  coming  victory,  and  his  eyes 
fla.shed  fire.  If  all  the  men  had  shown  such  a  spirit  the 
army  would  have  overrun  the  whole  country.  The  four 
surgeons — Dr.  Temple,  Dr.  Gaylard,  Dr.  Oliver,  and  Hum- 
phrey— followed,  all  splendid  in  black  velvet  and  great 
periwigs.  Lastly  marched  the  rearguard  ;  but  after  the 
army  there  followed  such  a  motley  crew  as  no  one  can  con- 
ceive. There  were  gypsies,  with  their  black  tents  and 
carts,  ready  to  rob  and  plunder  ;  there  were  the  tinkers,  who 
are  nothing  better  than  gypsies,  and  are  said  to  speak  their 
language  ;  there  were  men  with  casks  on  wheels  filled  with 
beer  or  cider  ;  there  were  carts  carrying  bread,  cakes,  bis- 
cuits, and  such  things  as  one  can  buy  in  a  booth  or  at  a 
fair ;  there  were  women  of  bold  and  impudent  looks,  singing  as 
they  walked  ;  there  were,  besides,  whole  troops  of  country 
lads,  some  of  them  mere  boys,  running  and  strutting  along 
in  hopes  to  receive  arms  and  to  take  a  place  in  the  regi- 
ments. 

Presently  they  were  all  gone,  and  Lyme  was  quit  of  them. 
What  became  in  the  end  of  all  the  rabble  rout  which  followed 
the  army  I  know  not.  One  thing  was  certain  :  the  godly 
disposition,  the  pious  singing  of  psalms,  and  the  devout  ex- 
position of  the  Word  which  I  had  looked  for  in  the  army 
were  not  apparent.  Rather  there  was  evident  a  tumultuous 
joy,  as  of  schoolboys  out  for  a  holiday — certainly  no  school- 
boys could  have  made  more  noise  or  showed  greater  happi- 
ness in  their  faces.  Among  them,  however,  there  were 
some  men  of  middle  age,  whose  faces  showed  a  different 
temper  ;  but  these  were  rare. 

"Lord  help  them  !  "  said  our  friendly  fisherwoman,  who 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  \  \^ 

stood  with  us.      "There  wjll  be  hard  knocks  before  those 
fine  fellows  go  home  again." 

"They  fight  on  the  Lord's  side,"  said  my  mother  ;  "there- 
fore they  may  be  killed,  but  they  will  not  wholly  perish." 

As  for  the  hard  knocks,  they  began  without  any  delay, 
and  on  that  very  morning.  For  at  Axminister  they  en- 
countered the  Somerset  and  Devon  militia,  who  thought  to 
join  their  forces,  but  were  speedily  put  to  flight  by  the  rebels 
— a  victory  which  greally  encouraged  them. 

It  hath  been  maliciously  said  that  we  followed  the  army 
— as  if  we  were  two  sutler  women — on  foot,  I  suppose, 
tramping  in  the  dust,  singing  ribald  songs  like  those  poor 
creatures  whom  we  saw  marching  out  of  Lyme.  You  have 
heard  how  we  agreed  to  follow  Humphrey's  advice.  Well, 
we  left  Lyme  very  early  the  next  morning  (our  fisherwoman 
having  now  become  very  friendly  and  loath  to  let  us  go) 
and  rode  out,  our  guide  (poor  lad  !  his  death  lies  heavy  on 
my  soul,  yet  I  meant  the  best  ;  and,  truly,  it  was  the  side 
of  the  Lord)  marching  beside  us  armed  with  a  stout  blud- 
g'eon.  We  kept  the  main  road  (which  was  very  quiet  at 
this  early  hour)  as  far  as  Axminster,  where  we  left  it;  and, 
after  crossing  the  river  by  a  ford  or  wash,  we  engaged  up- 
on a  track,  or  path,  which  led  along  the  banks  of  a  little 
stream  for  a  mile  or  two — as  far  as  the  village  of  Chardstock. 
Here  we  made  no  halt;  but,  leaving  it  behind,  we  struck 
into  a  most  wild  and  mountainous  country  full  of  old  forests 
and  great  bare  places.  It  is  called  the  Forest  of  Neroche, 
and  is  said  to  shelter  numbers  of  gypsies  and  vagabonds, 
and  to  have  in  it  some  of  those  wild  people  who  live  in  the 
hills  and  woods  of  Somerset  and  do  no  work  except  to 
gather  the  dry  broom  and  tie  it  up,  and  so  live  hard  and 
hungry  lives,  but  know  not  any  master.  These  are  re- 
ported to  be  a  harmless  people,  but  the  gypsies  are  danger- 
ous because  they  are  ready  to  rob  and  even  murder.  I 
thought  of  Barnaby's  bag  of  gold  and  trembled.  However, 
we  met  with  none  of  them  on  the  journey,  because  they 
were  all  running  after  IMonmouth's  army.  There  was  no 
path  over  the  hills  by  the  way  we  took  ;  but  our  guide  knew 
the  country  so  well  that  he  needed  none,  pointing  out  the 
hills  with  a  kind  of  pride  as  if  they  belonged  to  him,  and 
telling  us  the  name  of  every  one  ;  but  these  I  have  long 
since  forgotten.  The  country,  however,  I  can  never  for- 
get, because  it  is  so  wild  and  beautiful.  One  place  I  re- 
member. It  is  a  very  strange  and  wonderful  place.  There 
is  a  vast  great  earthwork  surrounded  by  walls  of  stone,   but 


1 20  I-'OK  FAITH  AA'D  FREEDOM. 

these  are  ruinous.  It  stands  on  a  hill,  called  Blackdown, 
which  looks  over  into  the  Vale  of  Taunton.  The  guide  said 
it  was  called  Castle  Ratch,  and  that  it  was  built  long- ago  by 
the  ancient  Romans.  It  is  not  at  all  like  Sherborne  Castle, 
which  Oliver  Cromwell  slighted  when  he  took  the  place, 
and  blew  it  up  with  gunpowder ;  but  Sherborne  was  not 
built  by  the  Romans.  Here,  after  our  long  walk,  we  halted 
and  took  the  dinner  of  cold  bacon  and  bread  which  we  had 
brought  with  us.  The  place  looks  out  upon  the  beautiful 
Vale  of  Taunton,  of  which  I  had  heard.  Surely,  there  can- 
not be  a  more  rich,  fertile,  and  lovely  place  in  all  England 
than  the  Vale  of  Taunton.  Our  guide  began  to  tell  us  of 
the  glories  of  the  town,  its  wealth  and  populousness — and 
all  for  Monmouth,  he  added.  When  my  mother  was  rested 
were  mounted  our  nags  and  went  on,  descending  into  the 
plain.  Humphrey  had  provided  us  with  a  letter  commend- 
atory. He,  who  knew  the  names  of  all  who  were  well-af- 
fected, assured  us  that  the  lady  to  whom  the  letter  was  ad- 
dressed, IMiss  Susan  Blake  by  name,  was  one  of  the  most 
forward  in  the  Protestant  cause.  She  was  well  known  and 
much  respected,  and  she  kept  a  school  for  young  gentle- 
women, where  many  children  of  the  Nonconformist  gentry 
were  educated.  He  instructed  us  to  proceed  directly  to  her 
house,  and  to  ask  her  to  procure  for  us  a  decent  and  safe 
lodging.  He  could  not  have  given  us  a  letter  to  any  better 
person. 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon  when  we  rode  into  Taunton. 
The  streets  were  full  of  people  running  about,  talking,  now 
in  groups  and  now  by  twos  and  threes  ;  now  shouting  and 
now  whispering  ;  while  we  rode  along  the  street  a  man  ran 
bawling — 

"Great  news  !  great  news  !  Monmouth  is  upon  us  with 
twice  ten  thousand  men  !  " 

It  seems  that  they  had  only  that  day  learned  of  the  defeat 
of  the  militia  by  the  rebels.  A  company  of  the  Somerset 
militia  were  in  the  town,  under  Colonel  Luttrell,  in  order 
to  keep  down  the  people. 

Taunton  is,  as  everybody  knows,  a  most  rich,  prosperous, 
and  populous  town.  I  had  never  before  seen  so  many 
houses  and  so  many  people.  Why,  if  the  men  of  Taunton 
declared  for  the  duke  his  cause  was  already  won.  For 
there  is  nowhere,  as  I  could  not  fail  to  know,  a  greater 
stronghold  of  Dissent  than  this  town,  except  London,  and 
none  where  the  Nonconformists  have  more  injuries  to  re- 
member.     Only  two  years  before  this  their  meeting-houses 


i-OR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  12I 

had  been  broken  into,  and  their  pulpits  and  pews  brought 
out  and  burned,  and  they  were  forced,  against  their  con- 
science, to  worship  in  the  parish  church. 

We  easily  found  Miss  Blake's  house,  and  giving  our 
horses  to  the  guide,  we  presented  her  with  our  letter.  She 
was  a  young  woman  somewhat  below  the  common  stature, 
quick  of  speech,  her  face  and  eyes  full  of  vivacity,  and 
about  thirty  years  of  age.  But  when  she  had  read  the  letter, 
and  understood  who  we  were  and  whence  we  came,  she 
first  made  a  deep  reverence  to  my  mother,  and  then  she 
took  my  hands  and  kissed  me. 

"  Madam,"  she  said,  "  believe  me,  my  poor  house  will 
be  honored  indeed  by  the  presence  of  the  wife  and  the  daugh- 
ter of  the  godly  Dr.  Comfort  Eykin.  Pray,  pray,  go  on  fur- 
ther. I  have  a  room  that  is  at  your  disposal.  Go  thither, 
madam,  I  beg,  and  rest  after  your  journey.  The  wife  of 
Dr.  Eykin  !  'Tis  indeed  an  honor."  And  so,  with  the  kindest 
words,  she  led  us  upstairs,  and  gave  us  a  room  with  a  bed 
in  it,  and  caused  Vv^ater  for  washing  to  be  brought,  and  pres- 
ently went  out  with  me  to  buy  certain  things  needful  for  us, 
who  were  indeed  rustical  in  our  dress,  to  present  the  ap- 
pearance of  gentlewomen  ;  thanks  to  Barnaby's  heavy  purse, 
I  could  get  them  without  telling  n«y  mother  anything  about 
it.  She  then  gave  us  supper,  and  told  us  all  the  news.  The 
king,  she  said,  was  horribly  afraid,  and  it  was  rumored  that 
the  priests  had  all  been  sent  away  to  France  ;  the  Taunton 
people  were  resolved  to  give  the  duke  a  brave  reception  ; 
all  over  the  country,  there  was  no  doubt,  men  would  rally 
by  thousands  ;  she  was  in  a  rapture  of  joy  and  gratitude. 
Supper  over,  she  took  us  to  ker  schoolroom,  and  here — oh  ! 
the  pretty  sight  ! — her  schoolgirls  were  engaged  in  working 
and  embroidering  flags  for  the  duke's  army. 

"I  know  not,"  she  said,  "  whether  his  grace  will  conde- 
scend to  receive  them.  But  it  is  all  we  women  can  do." 
Poor  wretch  !  she  afterwards  suffered  the  full  penalty  for 
her  zeal. 

All  that  evening  we  heard  the  noise  of  men  running  about 
the  town,  with  the  clanking  of  weapons  and  the  commands 
of  officers  ;  but  we  knew  not  what  had  happened. 

Lo  1  in  the  morning  the  glad  tidings  that  the  militia  had 
left  the  town.  Nor  was  that  all ;  for  at  daybreak  the  people 
began  to  assemble,  and,  there  being  none  to  stay  them, 
broke  into  the  great  church,  and  took  possession  of  the  arms 
that  had  been  deposited  for  safety  in  the  tower.  They  also 
opened  the  prison,  and  set  free  a  worthy  Noncomformist 


12  J  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

divine  named  Vincent  All  the  morning  the  mob  ran  about 
the  streets  shouting,  "A  Monmouth  !  a  Monmouth  !  "  the 
magistrates  and  Royalists  not  daring  so  much  as  to  show 
their  faces,  and  there  was  nothing  talked  of  but  the  over- 
throw of  the  king  and  the  triumph  of  the  Protestant  religion. 
Nay,  there  were  fiery  speakers  in  the  market-place  and  be- 
fore the  west  porch  of  the  church,  who  mounted  on  tubs 
and  exhorted  the  people.  Grave  merchants  came  forth  and 
shook  hands  with  each  other  ;  ministers  who  had  been  in 
hiding  now  walked  forth  boldly.  It  was  truly  a  great  day 
for  Taunton. 

The  excitement  grew  greater  when  Captain  Hucker,  a 
well-known  serge-maker  of  the  town,  rode  in  with  a  troop 
of  Monmouth's  horse.  Captain  Hucker,  had  been  seized  by 
Colonel  Phillips  on  the  charge  of  receiving  a  message  from 
the  duke,  but  he  escaped  and  joined  the  rebels,  to  his 
greater  loss,  as  afterwards  appeared.  However,  he  now 
rode  in  to  tell  his  fellow-townsmen  of  his  own  wonderful 
and  providential  escape,  and  that  the  duke  would  certainly 
arrive  the  next  day,  and  he  exhorted  them  to  give  him  such 
a  welcome  as  he  had  a  right  to  expect  at  their  hands.  He 
also  reminded  them  that  they  were  the  sons  of  the  men  who, 
forty  years  before,  defended  Taunton  under  Admiral  Blake. 
There  was  a  great  shouting  and  tossing  of  caps  after  Cap- 
tain Hucker's  address,  and  no  one  could  do  too  much  for 
the  horsemen  with  him,  so  that  I  fear  these  brave  fellows 
were  soon  fain  to  lie  down  and  sleep  till  the  fumes  of  the 
strong  ale  should  leave  their  brains. 

All  that  day  and  half  the  night  we  sat  in  Miss  Blake's 
schoolroom  finishing  the  flags,  in  which  I  was  permitted  to 
join.  There  were  twenty-seven  flags  in  all  presented  to  the 
army  by  the  Taunton  maid. — twelve  by  Miss  Blake  and  fif- 
teen by  one  Mrs.  Musgrave,  also  a  schoolmistress.  And 
now,  indeed,  seeing  that  the  militia  at  Axminster  had  fled 
almost  at  the  mere  aspect  of  one  man,  and  those  of  Taun- 
ton had  also  fled  away  secretly  by  night,  and,  catching  the 
zeal  of  our  kind  entertainer,  and  considering  the  courage  and 
spirit  of  these  good  people,  I  began  to  feel  confident  again, 
and  my  heart,  which  had  fallen  very  low  at  the  sight  of  the 
duke's  hanging  head  and  gloomy  looks,  rose  again,  and  all 
danger  seemed  to  vanish.  And  so,  in  a  mere  fool's  para- 
dise, I  continued  happy  indeed  until  the  fatal  news  of  Sedg»- 
moor  fight  awoke  us  all  from  our  fond  dreams. 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM, 


"J 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

TAUNTON. 

I  NEVER  weary  in  thinking  of  the  gayety  and  happineas 
of  those  four  days  at  Taunton  among  the  rebels.  There 
was  no  more  doubt  in  any  of  our  hearts  ;  we  were  all  con- 
fident of  victory,  and  that  easy,  and  perhaps  bloodless.  As 
was  the  rejoicing  at  Taunton,  so  it  would  be  in  every  town 
of  the  country.  One  only  had  to  look  out  of  window  in 
order  to  feel  assurance  of  that  victory,  so  jolly,  so  happy, 
so  confident  looked  every  face. 

' '  Why, "  said  Miss  Blake,  ' '  in  future  ages  even  we  women, 
who  have  only  worked  the  flags,  will  be  envied  for  our 
share  in  the  glorious  deliverance.  Great  writers  will  speak 
")f  us  as  they  speak  of  the  Roman  women."  Then  all  our 
eyes  sparkled,  and  the  needles  flew  faster,  and  the  flags 
grew  nearer  to  completion. 

If  history  should  condescend  to  remember  the  poor  maids 
of  Taunton  at  all  it  will  be,  at  best,  with  pity  for  the  afflic- 
tions which  afterwards  fell  upon  them  ;  none,  certainly, 
will  envy  them  ;  but  we  shall  be  forgotten.  Why  should 
we  be  remembered.''  Women,  it  is  certain,  have  no  busi- 
ness with  affairs  of  state,  and  especially  none  with  rebel- 
lions and  civil  wars.  Our  hearts  and  passions  carry  us 
away.  The  leaders  in  the  cause  which  we  have  joined  ap- 
pear to  us  to  be  more  than  human  ;  we  cannot  restrain 
ourselves,  we  fall  down  and  worship  our  leaders,  especially 
in  the  cause  of  religion  and  liberty. 

Now,  behold  !  On  the  very  morning  after  we  arrived  at 
Taunton  I  was  abroad  in  the  streets  with  Miss  Blake,  look- 
ing at  the  town,  which  hath  shops  full  of  the  most  beautiful 
and  precious  things,  and  wondering  at  the  great  concourse 
of  people  (for  the  looms  were  all  deserted,  and  the  work- 
men were  in  the  streets  filled  with  a  martial  spirit),  I  saw  rid- 
ing into  the  town  no  other  tliaii  Roliin  himself.  Oh  !  how  my 
heart  leaped  up  to  sec  liini  !  He  was  most  gallantly  dressed, 
in  a  purple  coat  with  a  crimson  sash  over  his  shoulders  to 
carry  his  sword  ;  he  had  pistols  in  his  holsters,  and  wore 
^reat  riding-boots,  and  with  him  rode  a  company  of  a  doztn 


134  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

young  men,  mounted  on  good,  strong  nags  ;  why,  they 
were  men  of  our  own  village,  and  1  knew  them  every  one. 
They  were  armed  with  muskets  and  pikes — I  knew  where 
they  came  from — and  when  they  saw  me  the  fellows  all 
began  to  grin,  and  to  square  their  shoulders  so  as  to  look 
more  martial.      But  Robin  leaped  from  his  horse. 

"  'Tis  Grace  !  '"  he  cried.  "Dear  heart  !  Thou  art  then 
safe,  so  far?  Madam,  your  servant."  Here  he  took  off  his 
hat  to  Miss  Blake.  "Lads,  ride  on  the  White  Hart,  and 
call  for  what  you  want,  and  take  care  of  the  njigs.  This  is 
a  joyful  meeting,  sweetheart. '  Here  he  kissed  me.  "The 
duke,  they  say,  draws  thousands  daily.  I  thought  to  find 
him  in  Taunton  by  this  time.  Why,  we  are  as  good  as  vic- 
torious already.  Humphrey,  I  take  it,  is  with  his  grace. 
My  dear,  even  had  the  cause  of  freedom  failed  to  move  me 
I  had  been  dragged  by  the  silken  ropes  of  love.  Truly,  I 
could  not  choose  but  come.  There  was  the  thought  of  these 
brave  fellows  marching  to  battle,  and  I  all  the  time  skulk- 
ing at  home,  who  had  ever  been  so  loud  upon  their  side. 
And  there  was  the  thought  of  Humphrey,  braving  the  dan- 
gers of  the  field,  tender  though  he  be,  and  I,  strong  and 
lusty,  sitting  by  the  tire  and  sleeping  on  a  featherbed  ;  and 
always  there  was  the  thought  of  thee,  my  dear,  among  these 
rude  soldiers — like  Milton's  lady  among  the  rabble  rout — 
because  well  I  know  that  even  Christian  warriors  (so  called) 
are  not  lambs  ;  and,  again,  there  was  my  grandfather,  who 
could  find  no  rest,  but  continually  walked  to  and  fro,  with 
looks  that  at  one  time  said,  'Go,  my  son,'  and  at  others, 
'Nay  ;  lest  thou  receive  a  hurt ; '  and  the  white  face  of  my 
mother,  which  said,  as  plain  as  eyes  could  speak,  '  He  ought 
to  go,  he  ought  to  go  ;  and  yet  he  may  be  killed.' " 

"Oh,  Robin!  Pray  God  there  prove  to  be  no  more 
fighting. " 

"Well,  my  dear,  if  I  am  not  tedious  to  madam  here — " 

"Oh,  sir!"  said  Miss  Blake,  "it  is  a  joy  to  hear  this 
talk."  She  told  me,  afterwards,  that  it  was  a  joy  to  look 
upon  so  gallant  a  gentleman,  and  such  a  pair  of  lovers.  She, 
poor  thing,  had  no  sweetheart. 

"Then  on  Monday,"  Robin  continued,  "the  day  before 
yesterday,  I  could  refrain  no  longer,  but  laid  the  matter  be- 
fore my  grandfather.  Sweetheart !  there  is  no  better  man 
in  all  the  world." 

"  Of  that  I  am  well  assured,  Robin." 

"First,  he  said  that  if  anything  befell  me  he  should  go 
down  in  sorrow  to  his  grave  ;  yet  that  as  to  his  own  end 


POM.  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 


1*5 


An  old  man  so  near  the  grave  should  not  be  concerned 
about  the  manner  of  his  end  so  long  as  he  should  keep  to 
honor  and  duty.  Next,  that  in  his  own  youth  he  had  him- 
self gone  forth  willingly  to  fight  in  the  cause  of  liberty, 
without  counting  the  risk.  Thirdly,  that  if  my  conscience 
did  truly  urge  me  to  follow  the  duke  I  ought  to  obey  that 
voice  in  the  name  of  God.  And  this  with  tears  in  his  eyes, 
and  yet  a  lively  and  visible  satisfaction  that,  as  he  himself 
had  chosen,  so  his  grandson  would  choose.  '  Sir,'  I  said, 
'  that  voice  of  conscience  speaks  very  loudly  and  clearly. 
I  cannot  stifle  it.  Therefore,  by  your  good  leave,  I  will  go.' 
Then  he  bade  me  take  the  best  horse  in  the  stable,  and  gave 
me  a  purse  of  gold,  and  so  I  made  ready." 

Miss  Blake,  at  this  point,  said  that  she  was  reminded  of 
David.  It  was,  I  suppose,  because  Robin  was  so  goodly  a 
lad  to  look  upon  ;  otherwise,  David,  though  an  exile,  did 
never  endeavor  to  pull  King  Saul  from  his  throne. 

"  Then,"  Robin  continued,  "  I  went  to  my  mother.  She 
wept,  because  war  hath  many  dangers  and  chances  ;  but 
she  would  not  say  me  'nay.'  And  in  the  evening 
when  the  men  came  home  I  asked  who  would  go  with 
me.  A  dozen  stout  fellows — you  know  them  all,  sweet- 
heart— stepped  forth  at  once  ;  another  dozen  would  have 
come,  but  their  wives  prevented  them.  And  so,  mounting 
them  on  good  cart-horses,  I  bade  farewell  and  rode  away. " 

"Sir,"  said  Miss  Blake,  "you  have  chosen  the  better 
part.  You  will  be  rewarded  by  so  splendid  a  victory  that 
it  will  surprise  all  the  world  ;  and  for  the  rest  of  your  life 
— yes,  and  for  generations  afterwards — you  will  be  ranked 
among  the  deliverers  of  your  country.  It  is  a  great  privi- 
lege, sir,  to  take  part  in  the  noblest  passage  of  English  his- 
tory. Oh!" — she  clasped  her  hands — "I  am  sorry  that 
I  am  not  a  man,  only  because  I  would  strike  a  blow  in  this 
sacred  cause.  But  we  are  women,  and  we  can  but  pray 
and  make  flags.      We  cannot  die  for  the  cause." 

The  event  proved  that  women  can  sometimes  die  for  the 
cause,  because  she  herself,  if  any  woman  ever  did,  died  for 
her  cause. 

Then  Robin  left  us  in  order  to  take  steps  about  his  men 
and  himself  Captain  Hucker  received  them  in  the  name 
•f  the  duke.  They  joined  the  cavalry,  and  Robin  was 
made  a  captain.  This  done,  he  rode  out  with  the  rest  to 
meet  the  duke. 

Now,  when  his  approach  was  known  everybody  who  had 
a  horse  rode  forth  to  meet  him,  so  that  there  followed  him, 


ttb  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

not  counting  his  army,  so  great  a  company  that  they  almost 
made  another  army.  Lord  Grey  rode  on  one  side  of  him, 
and  Colonel  Speke  on  the  other  ;  Dr.  Hooke,  the  chaplain, 
and  my  father  rode  behind.  My  heart  swelled  with  joy  to 
hear  how  the  people,  when  they  had  shouted  themsel\es 
hoarse,  cried  out  for  my  father,  because  his  presence  showed 
that  they  would  have  once  more  that  liberty  of  worship  for 
want  of  which  they  had  so  long  languished.  The  duke's 
own  chaplain,  Mr.  Ferguson,  had  got  a  naked  sword  in  his 
hand,  and  was  marching  on  foot,  crying  out,  in  a  most 
vainglorious  manner,  "I  am  Ferguson,  the  famous  Fergu' 
son,  that  Ferguson  for  whose  head  so  many  hundred 
pounds  were  offered.  I  am  that  man !  I  am  that  man  !  " 
He  wore  a  great  gown  and  cassock,  which  consorted  ill 
with  the  sword  in  his  hand  ;  and  in  the  evening  he  preached 
in  the  great  church,  while  my  father  preached  in  the  old 
meeting-house  to  a  much  larger  congregation,  and,  I  ven- 
ture to  think,  a  much  more  edifying  discourse. 

The  army  marched  through  the  town  in  much  the  same 
order  as  it  had  marched  out  of  Lyme,  and  it  seemed  not 
much  bigger,  but  the  men  marched  more  orderly  and  there 
was  less  laughing  and  shouting.  But  the  streets  were  so 
thronged  that  the  men  could  hardly  make  their  way. 

As  soon  as  it  was  reported  that  the  duke  was  within  a 
mile  (they  had  that  day  marched  sixteen  miles,  from  Ilmin- 
ster)  the  chiwch  bells  were  set  a  ringing  ;  children  came  out 
with  baskets  of  flowers  in  readiness  to  strew  them  at  his 
feet  as  he  should  pass — roses  and  lilies  and  all  kinds  of 
summer  flowers,  so  that  his  horse  had  most  delicate  carpet 
to  walk  upon  ;  the  common  people  crowded  the  sides  of 
the  streets  ;  the  windows  were  filled  with  ladies  who  waved 
their  handkerchiefs  and  called  aloud  on  Heaven  to 
bless  the  good  duke,  the  brave  duke,  the  sweet  and 
lovely  duke.  If  there  were  any  malcontents  in  the 
town  they  kept  snug  ;  it  would  have  cost  them  dear  even  to 
have  been  seen  in  the  streets  that  day.  The  duke  showed 
on  this  occasion  a  face  full  of  hope  and  happiness  ;  indeed, 
if  he  had  not  shown  a  cheerful  countenance  on  such  a  day, 
he  would  have  been  something  less,  or  something  greater, 
than  human.  I  mean  that  he  would  have  been  either  in- 
sensible and  blockish  not  to  be  moved  by  such  a  welcome, 
or  else  he  would  have  been  a  prophet,  as  foreseeing  what 
would  follow.  He  rode  bareheaded,  carrying  his  hat  in  his 
)kand  ;  he  was  dressed  in  a  shining  corslet  with  a  blue  silk 
•carf  and  a  purple  coat ;   his  long  brown  hair  hung^  in  curl» 


fOR  FAITH  AND  FR£:j£DOM.  1 27 

upon  his  shoulders  ;  his  sweet  hps  were  parted  with  a  gra- 
cious smile  ;  his  beautiful  brown  eyes — never  had  any  prince 
more  lovely  eyes — looked  pleased  and  benignant  ;  truly 
there  was  never  made  any  man  more  comely  than  the  Duke 
of  Monmouth.  The  face  of  his  father,  and  that  of  his  uncle. 
King  James,  were  dark  and  gloomy,  but  the  duke's  face  was 
naturally  bright  and  cheerful  ;  King  Charles's  long  nose  in 
him  was  softened  and  reduced  to  the  proportions  of  manly 
beauty  ;  in  short,  there  was  no  feature  that  in  his  father 
was  harsh  and  unpleasing  bul  was  in  him  sweet  and  beauti- 
ful. If  I  had  thought  him  comely  and  like  a  king's  son 
when  four  years  before  he  made  his  progress,  I  thought  him 
now  ten  times  as  gracious  and  as  beautiful.  He  was  thin- 
ner in  the  face,  which  gave  his  appearance  the  greater 
dignity  ;  he  had  ever  the  most  gracious  smile  and  the  most 
charming  eyes  ;  and  at  such  a  moment  as  this  who  could 
believe  the  things  which  they  said  about  his  wife  and  Lady 
Wentworth  .?  No — they  were  inventions  of  his  enemies  ; 
they  must  be  base  lies  ;  so  noble  a  presence  could  not 
conceal  a  guilty  heart  ;  he  must  be  as  good  and  virtuous  as 
he  was  brave  and  lovely.  Thus  we  talked,  sitting  in  the 
window,  and  thus  we  cheered  our  souls.  Even  now,  to 
think  how  great  and  good  he  looked  on  that  day,  it  is  diffi- 
cult to  believe  that  he  was  in  some  matters  so  vile.  I  am 
not  of  those  who  expect  one  kind  of  moral  conduct  from  one 
man  and  a  different  kind  from  another  :  there  is  but  one  set 
of  commandments  for  rich  and  poor,  for  prince  and  peasant 
But  the  pity  of  it,  oh  !  the  pity  of  it,  with  a  prince  ! 

Never,  in  short,  did  one  see  such  a  tumult  of  joy  ;  it  is 
impossible  to  speak  otherwise  :  the  people  had  lost  their 
wits  with  excess  of  joy.  Nor  did  they  show  their  welcome 
in  shouting  only,  for  all  doors  were  thrown  wide  open  and 
supplies  and  necessaries  of  all  kinds  were  sent  to  the  soldiers 
in  the  camp  outside  the  town,  so  that  the  country  lads 
declared  they  had  never  fared  more  sumptuously.  There 
now  rode  after  the  duke  several  Nonconformist  ministers, 
beside  my  father.  Thus  there  was  th^  pious  Mr.  Lark,  of 
Lyme  ;  he  v/as  an  aged  Baptist  preacher,  who  thought  it  no 
shame  to  his  profession  to  gird  on  a  sword  and  to  command 
a  troop  of  horse  ;  and  others  there  were,  whose  names  I  for- 
get, who  had  come  forth  to  join  the  deliverer. 

In  the  market-place  the  duke  halted,  while  his  declaration 
was  read  aloud.  One  thing  I  could  not  approve.  They 
dragged  forth  three  of  the  justices — High  Churchmen,  and 
standing  stoutly  for  King  James — and  forced  them  to  listen, 


128  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

bareheaded,  to  the  declaration  ;  a  things  which  came  neat 
afterwards  to  their  destruction.  Yet  they  looked  sour  and 
unwilling,  as  any  one  would  have  testified.  The  declara- 
tion was  a  long  document,  and  the  reading  of  it  took  half 
an  hour  at  least  ;  but  the  people  cheered  all  the  time. 

After  this  they  read  a  proclamation,  warning  the  soldiers 
against  taking  aught  without  payment.  But  Robin 
laughed,  saying  that  this  was  the  way  with  armies,  where 
the  general  was  always  on  the  side  of  virtue,  yet  the 
soldiers  were  always  yielding  to  temptation  in  the  matter 
of  sheep  and  poultry  ;  that  human  nature  must  not  be  too 
much  tempted,  and  camp  rations  are  sometimes  scanty. 
But  it  was  a  noble  proclamation,  and  I  cannot  but  believe 
that  the  robberies  afterwards  complained  of  were  committed 
by  the  tattered  crew  who  followed  the  camp,  rather  than  by 
the  brave  fellows  themselves. 

The  duke  lay  at  Captain  Huckers  house,  over  against  the 
Three  Cups  Inn.  This  was  a  great  honor  for  Mr.  Hucker, 
a  plain  serge-maker,  and  there  were  many  who  were  envi- 
ous, thinking  that  the  duke  should  not  have  gone  to  the 
house  of  so  humble  a  person.  It  was  also  said  that  for  his 
services  Mr.  Hucker  boasted  that  he  should  expect  nothing 
less  than  a  coronet  and  the  title  of  peer,  once  the  business 
was  safely  despatched.  A  peer  to  be  made  out  of  a  master 
serge-maker  !  But  we  must  charitably  refuse  to  believe  all 
that  is  reported,  and,  indeed  (I  say  it  with  sorrow  of  that 
most  unfortunate  lady.  Miss  Blake),  much  idle  tattle  coii- 
cerning  neighbors  was  carried  on  in  her  house,  and  I  was 
told  that  it  was  the  same  in  every  house  of  Taunton,  so  that 
the  women  spent  all  their  time  in  talking  of  their  neighbors' 
affairs,  and  what  might  be  going  on  in  the  houses  of  their 
friends.  This  is  a  kind  of  talk  which  my  father  would 
never  permit,  as  testifying  to  idle  curiosity  and  leading  to 
undue  importance  concerning  things  which  are  fleeting  and 
trivial. 

However,  the  duke  was  bestowed  in  Captain  Huckers 
best  bed  ;  of  that  there  was  no  doubt,  and  the  bells  rang 
and  bonfires  blazed,  and  the  people  sang  and  shouted  in  the 
streets. 


fOU  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  j  zg 


CHAPTER  XVIIL 

THE    MAIDS    OF  TAUNTON. 

I 

The  next  day  was  made  remarkable  in  our  eyes  by  an 
event  which,  though  doubtless  of  less  importance  than  the 
enlistment  of  a  dozen  recruits,  seemed  a  very  great  thing 
indeed — namely,  the  presentation  to  the  duke  of  the  colors 
embroidered  for  him  by  Susan  Blake's  schoolgirls.  I  was 
myself  permitted  to  walk  with  the  girls  on  this  occasion,  as 
if  I  had  been  one  of  them,  though  a  stranger  to  the  place 
and  but  newly  arrived — such  was  the  kindness  of  Susan 
Blake  and  her  respect  for  the  name  of  the  learned  and  pious 
Dr.  Eykin. 

At  nine  of  the  clock  the  girls  who  were  to  carry  the  flags 
began  to  gather  in  the  schoolroom.  There  were  twenty- 
seven  in  all,  but  twelve  only  were  the  pupils  of  Miss  Blake. 
The  others  were  the  pupils  of  Mrs.  Musgrave,  another 
school-mistress  in  the  town.  I  remember  not  the  names  of 
all  the  girls,  but  some  of  them  I  remember.  One  was 
Katharine  Bovet,  daughter  of  Colonel  Bovet :  she  it  was  who 
walked  first  and  named  those  who  followed  ;  there  was 
also  Mary  Blake,  cousin  of  Susan,  who  was  afterwards 
thrown  into  prison  with  her  cousin,  but  presently  was  par- 
doned. Miss  Hucker,  daughter  of  Captain  Hucker,  the 
master  serge-maker  who  entertained  the  duke,  was  another 
— these  were  of  the  White  Regiment;  there  were  three 
daughters  of  Captain  Herring,  two  daughters  of  Mr.  Thomas 
Baker,  one  of  Monmouth's  privy-councillors  ;  Mary  Meade 
was  the  girl  who  carried  the  famous  golden  flag  ;  and  others 
whom  I  have  forgotten.  When  we  were  assembled,  being 
dressed  all  in  white,  and  each  maid  wearing  the  Monmouth 
colors,  we  took  our  flags  and  sallied  forth.  In  the  street 
there  was  almost  as  great  a  crowd  to  look  on  as  the  day  be- 
fore, when  the  duke  rode  in  ;  and,  certainly,  it  was  a  very 
pretty  sight  to  see.  First  marched  a  man  playing  on  the 
croud  very  briskly  ;  after  him.  one  who  beat  a  tabor,  and 
one  who  played  a  fife  ;  so  that  we  had  music  on  our 
march.  When  the  music  sU)p])C(l  we  lifted  our  voices 
and  sang  a  psalm  all  together  ;  that  done  the  croiider  beg-an 
again. 


5  j^  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREF.DOM. 

As  for  the  procession,  no  one  surely  had  ever  seen  th<i 
like  of  it  After  the  music  walked  six-and-twenty  girls,  the 
youngest  eight  and  the  oldest  not  more  than  twelve.  They 
marched  two  by  two,  very  orderly,  all  dressed  in  white 
with  blue  favors,  and  every  girl  carrying  in  her  hands  a  flag 
of  silk  embroidered  by  herself,  assisted  by  Miss  Blake  or 
some  other  older  person,  with  devices  appropriate  to  the 
nature  of  the  enterprise  in  hand.  For  one  flag  had  upon  it, 
truly  figured  in  scarlet  silk,  an  open  Bible,  because  it  was 
for  liberty  to  read  and  expound  that  book  that  the  men  were 
going  forth  to  fight.  Upon  another  was  embroidered  a  great 
cross  ;  upon  a  third  were  the  arms  of  the  duke  ;  a  fourth  bore 
upon  it,  to  show  the  zeal  of  the  people,  the  arms  of  the 
town  of  Taunton  ;  and  a  fifth  had  both  a  Bible  and  a  drawn 
sword  ;  and  so  forth,  every  one  with  a  legend  embroidered 
upon  it  plain  for  all  to  read.  The  flags  were  affixed  to  stout 
white  staves,  and  as  the  girls  walked  apart  from  each  other 
and  at  a  due  distance  the  flags,  all  flying  in  the  wind, 
made  a  pretty  sight  indeed,  so  that  some  of  the  women 
who  looked  on  shed  tears.  Among  the  flags  was  one  which 
I  needs  must  mention,  because,  unless  the  device  was  com- 
municated by  some  person  deep  in  the  duke's  counsels,  it 
most  strangely  jumped  with  the  event  of  the  following  day. 
Mary  Meade,  poor  child,  carried  it.  We  called  it  the  Golden 
Flag,  because  it  had  a  crown  worked  in  gold  thread  upon  it 
and  the  letters  "  J.  R."  A  fringe  of  lace  was  sewn  round  it, 
so  that  it  was  the  richest  flag  of  all.  What  could  the  crown 
with  the  letters  "J.  R. "  mean,  but  that  James,  Duke  of 
Monmouth,  would  shortly  assume  the  crown  of  these  three 
kingdoms  } 

Last  of  all  walked  Miss  Susan  Blake,  and  I  by  her  side. 
She  bore  in  one  hand  a  Bible  bound  in  red  leather  stamped 
with  gold,  and  in  the  other  a  naked  sword. 

The  duke  came  forth  to  meet  us  standing  bareheaded  before 
the  porch.  There  were  standing  beside  and  behind  him  the 
Lord  Grey,his  two  chaplains.  Dr.  Hooke  and  Mr.  Ferguson, 
and  my  father,  Mr.  Larke,  the  Baptist  minister  of  Lyme 
Regis  (he  wore  a  corslet  and  carried  a  sword),  and  the  col- 
onels of  his  regiment.  His  body-guard  were  drawn  up  across 
the  street,  looking  brave  and  si)lendid  in  their  new  favors. 
The  varlets  waited  beyond  with  the  horses  for  the  duke's 
party.  Who,  to  look  upon  the  martial  array,  the  bravery  of 
the  guard,  the  gallant  bearing  of  all,  the  confidence  in  their 
looks,  and  the  presence,  which  should  surely  bring  a 
blessing,  of  the  ministers  of  religion,   would  think  that  all 


FOR  FAITH  AXD  FREEDOM. 


n\ 


this  pomp  and  promise  could  be  shattered  at  a  single  blow? 

As  each  girl  advanced  in  her  turn  she  knelt  on  one  knee 
and  offered  her  flag,  bowing  her  head  (we  had  practised 
this  ceremony  several  times  at  the  school  until  we  were  all 
quite  perfect  in  our  parts).  Then  the  duke  stepped  forward 
and  raised  her,-  tenderly  kissing  her.  Then  she  stood 
aside,  holding  her  flag  still  in  her  hands. 

My  turn — because  I  had  no  flag — came  last  but  one.  Miss 
Susan  Blake  being  the  last. — Now — I  hope  it  was  not  folly 
or  a  vainglorious  desire  to  be  distinguished  by  any  particu- 
lar notice  of  his  grace — I  could  not  refrain  from  hanging 
the  ring  which  the  duke  had  given  me  at  Ilchester  five  years 
ago  outside  my  dress  by  a  blue  ribbon.  Miss  Blake  to 
whom  I  had  told  the  story  of  the  ring,  advised  me  to  do  so, 
partly  to  show  my  loyalty  to  the  duke,  and  partly  because 
it  was  a  pretty  thing  and  one  which  some  women  would 
much  desire  to  possess. 

Miss  Katharine  Bovet  informed  the  duke  that  I  was  the 
daughter  of  the  learned  preacher.  Dr.  Comfort  Eykin.  When 
I  knelt  he  raised  me.  Then,  as  he  was  about  to  salute 
me,  his  eyes  fell  upon  the  ring,  and  he  looked  fiist  at 
me  and  then  at  the  ring. 

"Madam,"  he  said,  "this  ring  I  ought  to  know.  If  I 
mistake  not,  there  are  the  initials  of  'J.  S.'  upon  it  ?  " 

"Sir,"  I  replied,  "the  ring  was  your  own.  Your  grace 
was  so  good  as  to  bestow  it  upon  me  in  your  progress 
through  the  town  of  Ilchester,  five  years  ago." 

"Gad  so!"  he  said,  laughing;  "I  remember  now. 
'Twas  a  sweet  and  lovely  child  whom  I  kissed — and  now  thou 
art  a  sweet  and  lovely  maiden.  Art  thou  truly  the  daughter 
of  Dr.  Comfort  Eykin  .? " — he  looked  behind  him  ;  but  my 
father  neither  heard  nor  attended,  being  wrapped  in  thought. 
"  'Tis  strange  :  his  daughter!  'Tis,  indeed  wonderful  that 
such  a  child  should — "  Here  he  stopped.  "  Fair  Rose  of 
Somerset  I  called  thee  then.  Fair  Rose  of  Somerset  I  call  thee 
again.  Why,  if  I  could  place  thee  at  the  head  of  my  army 
all  England  would  certainly  follow,  as  if  Helen  of  Troy  or 
Queen  Venus  herself  did  lead."  So  he  kissed  me  on  the 
check  with  much  warmth — more  indeed,  than  was  necessary 
to  show  a  gracious  and  friendly  good-will  ;  and  suffered 
me  to  step  aside.  "  Dr.  Eykin's  daughter  !  "  he  repeated, 
with  a  kind  of  wonder.  "  Why  should  not  Dr.  Eykin  have 
a  daughter  ?  " 

When  I  told  Robin  of  this  gracious  salutation  he  first 
turned  very  red  and  then  he  laughed.     Then  he   said  that 


IJ2  FOR  FAITH  AND  FkEE£>OM. 

everybody  knew  the  duke,  but  he  must  not  attempt  any 
court  freedoms  in  the  Protestant  camp  ;  and  if  he  were  to 
try —  Then  he  broke  off  short,  changed  color  again,  and 
then  he  kissed  me,  saying  that,  of  course,  the  duke  meant 
nothing  but  kindliness,  but  that,  for  his  own  part,  he  desired 
not  his  sweetheart  to  be  kissed  by  anybody  but  himself 
So  I  suppose  my  boy  was  jealous.  But  the  folly  of  being 
jealous  of  so  great  a  prince,  who  could  not  possibly  have 
the  least  regard  for  a  simple  country  maiden,  and  who 
had  known  the  great  and  beautiful  court  ladies  :  it  made 
me  laugh  to  think  that  Robin  could  be  so  foolish  as  to  be 
jealous  of  the  duke. 

Then  it  was  Miss  Susan  Blake's  turn.  She  stepped  for- 
ward very  briskly,  and  knelt  down  and  placed  the  Bible  in 
the  duke's  left  hand  and  the  sword  in  his  right. 

"  Sir,"  she  said  (speaking  the  words  we  had  made  up  and 
she  had  learned),  "  it  is  in  the  name  of  the  women  of 
Taunton — nay,  of  the  women  of  all  England — that  I  give 
you  the  Book  of  the  Word  of  God,  the  most  precious  treas- 
ure vouchsafed  to  man,  so  that  all  may  learn  that  you  are 
come  for  no  other  purpose  than  to  maintain  the  right  of  the 
English  people  to  search  the  Scriptures  for  themselves,  and 
I  give  you  also,  sir,  a  sword  with  which  to  defend  those 
rights.  In  addition,  sir,  the  women  can  only  give  your 
grace  the  offering  of  their  continual  prayers  in  behalf  of  the 
cause,  and  for  the  safety  and  prosperity  of  your  highness 
and  your  army." 

"  Madam,"  said  the  duke,  much  moved  by  this  spectacle 
of  devotion,  "  I  am  come,  believe  me,  for  no  other  purpose 
than  to  defend  the  truths  contained  in  this  book,  and  to  seal 
my  defence  with  my  blood,  if  that  need  be." 

Then  the  duke  mounted  and  we  marched  behind  him  in 
single  file,  each  girl  led  by  a  soldier,  till  we  came  to  the 
camp,  when  our  flags  were  taken  from  us  and  we  returned 
home  and  took  off  our  white  dresses.  1  confess  that  I  laid 
mine  down  with  a  sigh.  White  becomes  every  maiden,  and 
my  only  wear  till  then  had  been  of  russet  brown.  And  all 
that  day  we  acted  over  again — in  our  talk  and  in  our 
thoughts — our  beautiful  procession,  and  we  repeated  the 
condescending  words  of  the  duke,  and  admired  the  gracious- 
ness  of  his  kisses,  and  praised  each  other  for  our  admirable 
behavior,  and  listened,  with  pleasure  unspeakable,  while 
Susan  Blake  prophesied  that  we  should  become  immortal 
by  the  ceremony  of  that  day. 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FKEEDOM. 


133 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

KING    MONMOUTH  AND   HIS  CAMP. 

Next  day,  the  town  being  thronged  with  people  and  the 
young  men  pressing  in  from  all  quarters  to  enroll  them- 
selves (over  four  thousand  joined  the  colors  at  Taunton 
alone),  another  proclamation  was  read — that,  namely,  by 
which  the  duke  claimed  the  throne.  Many  opinions  have 
been  given  as  to  this  step.  For  the  duke's  enemies  main- 
tain, first,  that  his  mother  was  never  married  to  King 
Charles  the  Second  (indeed,  there  is  no  doubt  that  the  king 
always  denied  the  marriage)  ;  next,  that  an  illegitimate  son 
could  never  be  permitted  to  sit  upon  the  ancient  throne  of 
this  realm  ;  and,  thirdly,  that  in  usurping  the  crown  the 
duke  broke  faith  with  his  friends,  to  whom  he  had  solemnly 
given  his  word  that  he  would  not  put  forward  any  such  pre- 
tensions. Nay,  some  have  gone  so  far  as  to  allege  that  he 
was  not  the  son  of  Charles  at  all,  but  of  some  other  whom 
they  even  name  ;  and  they  have  pointed  to  his  face  as  show- 
ing no  resemblance  at  all  to  that  swarthy  and  gloomy- 
looking  king.  On  the  other  hand,  the  duke's  friends  say 
that  there  were  in  his  hands  clear  proof  of  the  marriage  ;  that 
the  promise  given  to  his  friends  was  conditional,  and  one 
which  could  be  set  aside  by  circumstances  ;  that  the  country 
gentry,  to  whom  a  republic  w^as  most  distasteful,  were 
afraid  that  he  designed  to  re-establish  that  form  of  govern- 
ment ;  and,  further,  that  his  friends  were  all  fully  aware, 
from  the  beginning,  of  his  intentions. 

On  these  points  I  know  nothing;  but  when  a  thing  has 
been  done,  it  is  idle  to  spend  time  in  arguing  that  it  was 
well  or  ill  done.  James,  Duke  of  Monmouth,  was  now 
James,  King  of  Great  Britain  and  Ireland  ;  and  if  we  were 
all  rebels  before,  who  had  risen  in  the  name  of  religion  and 
liberty,  I  suppose  we  were  all  ten  times  as  much  rebels 
now,  when  we  had,  in  addition,  set  up  another  king,  and 
declared  King  James  to  be  an  usurper,  and  no  more  than 
the  Duke  of  York.  Nay,  that  there  might  be  wanting  no 
single  circumstance  of  aggravation,  it  was  in  this  proclama- 
tion declared  that  the  Duke  of  York  had  caused  his  brother. 


134  FOR  FATTH  AND  FREEDOM. 

the  late  king,  to  be  secretly  poisoned.  I  know  not  what 
foundation  exists  for  this  accusation  ;  but  I  have  been  told 
that  it  gave  offence  unto  many,  and  that  it  was  an  ill-advised 
thing  to  say. 

The  proclamation  was  read  aloud  at  the  market  cross  by 
Mr.  Tyler,  of  Taunton,  on  the  Saturday  morning,  before  a 
great  concourse  of  people.  It  ended  with  the  words,  "We 
therefore,  the  noblemen,  gentlemen,  and  commons  at  pres- 
ent assembled,  in  the  names  of  ourselves  and  of  all  the 
loyal  and  Protestant  noblemen,  gentlemen,  and  commons 
of  England,  in  pursuance  of  our  duty  and  allegiance,  and 
for  the  delivering  of  the  kingdom  from  popery,  tyranny,  and 
oppression,  do  recognize,  publish,  and  proclaim  the  said 
high  and  mighty  Prince  James,  Duke  of  IMonmouth,  as 
lawful  and  rightful  sovereign  and  king,  by  the  name  of  James 
II.,  by  the  grace  of  God,  King  of  England,  Scotland,  France, 
and  Ireland,  Defender  of  the  Faith.      God  save  the  King  !  " 

After  this  the  duke  was  always  saluted  as  king,  prayed 
for  as  king,  and  styled  "his  majesty."  He  also  touched 
some  (as  only  the  king  can  do)  for  the  king's-evil,  and,  it  is 
said,  wrought  many  miracles  of  healing — a  thing  which, 
being  noised  abroad,  should  have  strengthened  the  faith  of 
the  people  in  him.  But  the  malignity  of  our  enemies  caused 
these  cases  of  healing  to  be  denied,  or  else  explained  as 
fables  and  inventions  of  the  duke's  friends. 

Among  the  accessions  of  this  day  was  one  which  I  cannot 
forbear  to  mention.  It  was  that  of  an  old  soldier  who  had 
been  one  of  Cromwell's  captains.  Colonel  Basset  by  name. 
He  rode  in — being  a  man  advanced  in  years,  yet  still  strong 
and  hale — at  the  head  of  a  considerable  company  raised  by 
himself.  'Twas  hoped  that  his  example  would  be  followed 
by  the  adhesion  of  many  more  of  Cromwell's  men,  but  the 
event  proved  otherwise.  Perhaps,  being  old  Republicans, 
they  were  deterred  by  the  proclamation  of  IMonmouth  as 
king.  Perhaps  they  had  grown  slothful  with  age,  and  were 
now  unwilling  to  face  once  more  the  dangers  and  fatigues 
of  a  campaign.  Another  recruit  was  the  once-famous  Col- 
onel Perrot,  who  had  been  engaged  with  Colonel  Blood  in 
the  robbery  of  the  crown  jewels — though  the  addition  of  a 
robber  to  our  army  was  not  a  matter  of  pride.  He  came,  it 
was  afterwards  said,  because  he  was  desperate,  his  fortunes 
broken,  and  with  no  other  hope  than  to  follow  the  fortunes 
of  the  duke. 

It  became  known  in  the  course  of  tlic  day  that  the  army 
was    to  march   on    the  Sunday.     Therefore  everybody  on 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 


135 


Saturday  evening  repaired  to  the  camp  :  some  to  bid  fare- 
well  and  Godspeed  to  their  friends,  and  others  to  witness 
the  humors  of  a  camp.  I  was  fortunate  in  having  Robin 
for  a  companion  and  a  protector — the  place  being  rough 
and  the  behavior  and  language  of  the  men  coarse  even  be- 
yond what  one  expects  at  a  country  fair.  The  recruits  still 
kept  pouring  in  from  all  parts  ;  but,  as  I  have  already 
said,  many  were  disheartened  when  they  found  that  there 
were  no  arms,  and  went  home  again.  They  were  not  all  riot- 
ous and  disorderly.  Some  of  the  men,  those,  namely,  who 
were  older,  and  more  sober-minded,  we  found  gathered  to- 
gether in  groups,  earnestly  engaged  in  conversation. 

"They  are  considering  the  proclamation,"  said  Robin. 
"Truly,  we  did  not  expect  that  our  duke  would  so  soon  be- 
come king.  They  say  he  is  illegitimate.  What  then  .-* 
Let  him  mount  the  throne  by  right  of  arms,  as  Oliver  Crom- 
well could  have  done  had  he  pleased — who  asks  whether 
Oliver  was  illegitimate  or  no.?  The  country  will  not  have 
another  commonwealth — and  it  will  no  longer  endure  a 
Catholic  king.  Let  us  have  King  Monmouth,  then  :  who 
is  there  better.?  " 

In  all  the  camp  there  was  none  who  spoke  with  greater 
cheerfulness  and  confidence  than  Robin.  Yet  he  did  not 
disguise  from  himself  that  there  might  be  warm  work. 

"  The  king's  troops, "  he  said,  "are, closing  in  all  round 
us.  That  is  certain.  Yet,  even  if  they  all  join  we  are  still 
more  numerous  and  in  much  better  heart;  of  that  1  am  as- 
sured. At  Wellington,  the  Duke  of  Albemarle  commands 
the  Devonshire  Militia  ;  Lord  Churchill  is  at  Chard  with  the 
Somerset  Regiment ;  Lord  Bath  is  reported  to  be  marching 
upon  us  with  the  Cornishmen  ;  The  Duke  of  Beaufort  hath 
the  Gloucester  Militia  at  Bristol  ;  Lord  Pembroke  is  at  Chip- 
penham with  the  Wiltshire  Trainbands  ;  Lord  Feversham  is 
on  the  march  with  the  king's  standing  army.  What  then  ? 
are  these  men  Protestants  or  are  they  Papists?  Answer  mc 
that,  sweetheart." 

Alas  !  had  they  been  true  Protestants  there  would  have 
been  such  an  answer  as  would  have  driven  King  James 
across  the  water  three  years  sooner. 

The  camp  was  now  like  a  fair,  only  much  finer  and  bigger 
than  any  fair  I  have  ever  seen.  That  of  Lyme-Regis  could 
not  be  compared  with  it.  There  were  booths  where  they 
sold  ginger-bread,  cakes,  ale,  and  cider  ;  Monmouth  favors 
for  the  recruits  to  sew  upon  tlieir  hats  or  sleeves  ;  shoes 
and  stockings  were  sold  in  some,  and  even  chap-books  were 


136  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

displayed.  Men  and  women  carried  about  in  baskets  lasf 
year's  withered  apples,  with  Kentish  cobs  and  walnuts  ; 
there  were  booths  where  they  fried  sausages  and  roasted 
pork  all  day  long  ;  tumblers  and  clowns  were  performing  in 
others  ;  painted  and  dressed  up  girls  danced  in  others  ;  there 
was  a  bull-baiting  ;  a  man  was  making  a  fiery  oration  on 
the  duke's  proclamation  ;  but  I  saw  no  one  preaching  a  ser- 
mon. There  were  here  and  there  companies  of  country 
lads  exercising  with  pike  and  halbert ;  and  others,  more  ad- 
vanced, with  the  loading  and  firing  of  their  muskets.  There 
were  tables  at  which  sat  men  with  cards  and  dice,  gam- 
bling ;  shouting  when  they  won  and  cursing  when  they  lost ; 
others,  of  more  thrifty  mind,  sat  on  the  ground  practising 
their  trade  of  tailor  or  cobbler — thus  losing  no  money, 
though  they  did  go  soldiering  ;  some  polished  weapons  and 
sharpened  swords,  pikes  and  scythes  ;  nowhere  did  we  find 
any  reading  the  Bible,  or  singing  hymns,  or  listening  to 
sermons.  Save  for  the  few  groups  of  sober  men  of  whom  I 
have  spoken,  the  love  of  amusement  carried  all  away  ;  and 
the  officers  of  the  army,  who  might  have  turned  them  back 
to  sober  thought,  were  not  visible.  Everywhere  noise ; 
everywhere  beating  of  drums,  playing  of  pipes,  singing  of 
songs,  bawling,  and  laughing.  Among  the  men  there  ran 
about  a  number  of  saucy  gypsy  girls,  their  brown  faces 
showing  under  red  kerchiefs,  their  black  eyes  twinkling 
(truly  they  are  pretty  creatures  to  look  upon  when  they  are 
young  ;  but  they  have  no  religion,  and  say  of  themselves 
that  they  have  no  souls.)  These  girls  talked  with  each 
other  in  their  own  language,  which  none  out  of  their  own 
nation — except  the  tinker-folk,  who  are  said  to  be  their 
cousins — understand.  But  English  they  talk  very  well,  and 
they  are  so  clever  that,  it  is  said,  they  will  talk  to  a  Somer- 
setshire man  in  good  broad  Somerset,  and  to  a  man  of  Nor- 
folk in  his  own  speech,  though  he  of  Norfolk  would  not  un- 
derstand him  of  Somerset. 

"  They  are  the  vultures,"  said  Robin,  "who  follow  for 
prey.  Before  the  battle  these  women  cajole  the  soldiers  out 
of  their  money,  and  after  the  battle  their  men  rob  and  even 
murder  the  wounded  and  plunder  the  dead." 

Then  one  of  them  ran  and  stood  before  us. 

"  Let  me  tell  thy  fortune,  handsome  gentleman  ?  Let  me 
tell  thine,  fair  lady.?  A  sixpence  or  a  groat  to  cross  my 
palm,  captain,  and  you  shall  know  all  that  is  to  happen." 

Robin  laughed,  but  gave  her  sixpence. 

''Look  me  in  the  face,  fair  lady  " — she  SDoke  good,  plain 


hVR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOMt.  t^f 

English,  this  black-eyed  wench,  though  but  a  moment  be- 
fore she  had  been  talking  broad  Somerset  to  a  young  recruit 
— "look  me  in  the  face;  yes.  All  is  not  smooth.  He 
loves  you  ;  but  there  will  be  separation  and  trouble.  One 
comes  between,  a  big  man  with  a  red  face ;  he  parts  you. 
There  is  a  wedding,  I  see  your  ladyship  plain.  Why,  you 
are  crying  at  it,  you  cry  all  the  time  ;  but  I  do  not  see  this 
gentleman.  Then  there  is  another  wedding — yes,  another 
— and  I  see  you  at  both.  You  will  be  twice  married.  Yet 
be  of  good  heart,  fair  lady," 

She  turned  away  and  ran  after  another  couple,  no  doubt 
with  much  the  same  tale. 

"How  should  there  be  a  wedding,"  I  asked,  "  if  I  am 
there  and  you  not  there,  Robin — and  I  to  be  crying .''  And 
how  could  I — oh  !  Robin — how  could  I  be  married  twice  ? " 

"Nay,  sweetheart,  she  could  not  tell  what  wedding  it  was. 
She  only  uttered  the  gibberish  of  her  trade  ;  I  am  sorry  that 
I  wasted  a  sixpence  upon  her." 

"Robin,  is  it  magic  that  they  practise — these  gypsies.'' 
Do  they  traffic  with  the  devil .?  We  ought  not  to  suffer 
witches  to  live  among  us." 

"  Most  are  of  opinion  that  they  have  no  other  magip  than 
the  art  of  guessing,  which  they  learn  to  do  very  quickly, 
putting  things  together,  from  their  appearance;  so  that  if 
brother  and  sister  walk  out  together  they  are  taken  to  be 
lovers,  and  promised  a  happy  marriage  and  many  children." 

That  may  be  so,  and  perhaps  the  fortune  told  by  this  gypsy 
was  only  guesswork.  But  I  cannot  believe  it ;  for  the  event 
proved  that  she  had  in  reality  possessed  an  exact  knowledge 
of  what  was  about  to  happen. 

Some  of  the  gypsy  women — but  these  were  the  older 
women,  who  had  lost  their  good  looks,  though  not  their  im- 
pudence— were  singing  songs,  and  those,  as  Robin  told  me, 
songs  not  fit  to  be  sung  ;  and  one  old  crone,  sitting  before 
her  tent  beside  a  roaring  wood-fire  over  which  hung  a  great 
saucepan,  sold  charms  against  shot  and  steel.  The  lads 
bought  these  greedily,  giving  sixpence  apiece  for  them  ;  so 
that  the  old  witch  must  have  made  a  sackful  of  money. 
They  came  and  looked  on  shyly.  Then  one  would  say  to 
the  other,  "What  thinkest,  lad.'  Is  there  aught  in  \iV 
And  the  other  would  say,  "  Truly  I  know  not  ;  but  she  is 
a  proper  witch,  and  I'll  buy  one.  We  may  have  to  fight. 
Best  make  sure  of  a  whole  skin."  And  so  he  bought  one, 
and  then  all  bought.  The  husbands  of  the  gypsy  women 
were  engaged,   meantime,  we  understood,   ii^    robbing  the 


1 3  8  i-OR  PA  J  Til  AXD  FREED  OM. 

farmyards   in    the    neighborhood,   the   blame   being    after« 
wards  laid  upon  our  honest  soldiers. 

'rhcn  there  was  a  ballad-monger  singing  a  song  about  a 
man  and  a  broom,  and  selling  it  (to  those  who  would  buy) 
printed  on  a  long  slip  of  paper.     The  first  lines  were — 

"  There  was  an  old  man  and  he  lived  in  a  wood, 
And  his  trade  it  was  malcing  a  broom," 

but  I  heard  no  more,  because  Robin  hurried  me  away. 
Then  there  were  some  who  drunk  too  much  cider  or  beer, 
and  were  now  reeling  about  with  stupid  faces  and  glassy 
eves  ;  there  were  some  who  were  lying  speechless  or  asleep 
ui)on  the  grass  ;  and  some  were  cooking  supper  over  fires 
after  the  manner  of  the  gypsies. 

"  I  have  seen  enough,  Robin,"  I  said.  "  Alas  for  sacred 
Religion  if  these  are  her  defenders  ! " 

"'Tis  always  so,"  said  Robin,  "in  time  of  war.  We 
must  encourage  our  men  to  keep  up  their  hearts.  Should  we 
l)c  constantly  reminding  them  that  to-morrow  half  of  them 
may  be  lying  dead  on  the  battle-field }  Then  they  would 
mope  and  hang  their  heads,  and  would  presently  desert." 

"One  need  not  preach  of  death,  but  one  should  preach  of 
godliness  and  of  sober  joy.  Look  but  at  those  gypsy 
wenches  and  those  lads  rolling  about  drunk.  Are  these  things 
decent  .'*  If  they  escape  the  dangers  of  war,  will  it  make 
them  happy  to  look  back  upon  the  memory  of  this  camp  ? 
Is  it  tit  preparation  to  meet  their  Maker  .?  " 

"In  times  of  peace,  sweet  saint,  these  lads  remember 
easily  that  in  the  midst  of  life  we  are  in  death,  and  they 
govern  themselves  accordingly.  In  times  of  war  every  man 
hopes  for  his  own  part  to  escape  with  a  whole  skin,  though 
his  neighbor  fall.  That  is  why  we  are  all  so  blithe  and  jolly. 
Let  us  now  go  home,  before  the  night  falls  and  the  mirth  be- 
comes riotous  and  unseemly." 

We  passed  a  large  booth  whence  there  issued  sounds  of 
singing.  It  was  a  roofless  enclosure  of  canvas.  Some  ale- 
house man  of  Taunton  had  set  it  up.  Robin  drew  aside  the 
canvas  door. 

"  Look  in,"  he  said.  "See  the  brave  defenders  of  religion 
keeping  up  their  hearts." 

It  was  furnished  with  benches  and  rough  tables  ;  at  one  end 
were  casks.  The  benches  were  crowded  with  soldiers,  every 
man  with  a  pot  before  him,  and  the  varlets  were  running 
backward  and  forward  with  cans  of  ale  and  cider.     Most  of 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 


n% 


the  men  were  smoking'  pipes  of  tobacco,  and  they  were 
singing  a  song  which  seemed  to  have  no  end.  One  bawled 
the  hnes,  and  when  it  came  to  the  "  Let  the  hautboys  play  1  " 
and  the  "  Huzza  !  "  they  all  roared  out  together  : 

"  Now,  now,   the  duke's  health, 
And  let  tlie  hautboys  play. 
While  the  troops  on  their  march  shall 

Huzza  1  huzza  I  huzza] 
Now,  now,  the  duke's  health, 
And  let  the  hautboys  play. 
While  the  drums  and  the  trumpets  sound  from  the  shore 
Huzza!  huzza!  huzza!  " 

They  sart^;  this  verse  several  times  over.  Then  another  began  : 

••  Now,  now.  Lord  Gray's  health, 
And  let  the  hautboys  play, 
WJule  the  troops  on  their  march  shall 

Huzza  I  huzza!  huzza] 
Kow,  BOW,  Lord  Gray's  health, 

And  let  the  hautboys  play, 
While  the  drums  and  the  trumpets  sound  from  the  shore 
Huzza!  huzza!  huzza! 

Next  a  third  voice  took  it  up  : 

"Now  now,  the  colonel's  health, 
And  let  the  haittboys  play," 

and  then  a  fourth  and  a  fifth,'  and  the  last  verse  was  bawled 
as  lustily  and  with  so  much  joy  that  one  would  have  thought 
the  mere  singing  would  have  gotten  them  the  victory.  Men 
are  so  made,  I  suppose,  that  they  cannot  work  together  with- 
out singing  and  music  to  keep  up  their  hearts.  Sailors  sing 
whe4i  they  weigh  anchor ;  men  who  unlade  ships  sing  as 
they  carry  out  the  bales  ;  even  Cromwell's  Ironsides  could 
not  march  in  silence,  but  sang  psalms  as  they  marched. 

The  sun  was  set  and  the  twilight  falling  when  we  left  the 
camp  ;  and  there  was  no  abatement  of  the  roaring  and  sing- 
ing, but  rather  an  increase. 

"  They  will  go  on,"  said  Robin,  "until  the  drink  or  their 
money  gives  out;  then  they  will  lie  down  and  sleep.  You 
have  now  seen  a  camp,  sweetheart.  It  is  not,  truth  to  say, 
as  decorous  as  a  conventicle,  nor  is  the  talk  so  godly  as  in 
Sir  Christopher's  hall.  For  rough  fellows  there  must  be  rough 
play  ;  in  a  month  these  lads  will  be  veterans  ;  the  singing 
will  have  grown  stale  to  them  ;  the  black-eyed  gypsy-women 
will  have  no  more  power  to  charm  away  their  money  ;  thejr 


I40  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

will  understand  the  meaning  of  war  ;  the  camp  will  be  sobel 
if  it  is  not  religious. " 

So  he  walked  homeward,  I,  for  my  part,  saddened  to  think 
in  what  a  spirit  of  riot  these  young  men,  whom  I  had  pictur- 
ed so  full  of  godly  zeal,  were  preparing  to  meet  the  chance 
of  immediate  death  and  judgment. 

"  Sweet,"  said  Robin,  "1  read  thy  thoughts  in  thy  troubled 
eyes.  Pray  for  us.  Some  of  us  will  fight  none  the  worse  for 
knowing  that  there  are  good  women  who  pray  for  them. " 

We  were  now  back  in  the  town  ;  the  streets  were  still  full  of 
people,  an'd  no  one  seemed  to  think  of  bed.  Presently  we 
passed  the  Castle  Inn  :  the  windows  were  open,  and  we 
could  see  a  great  company  of  gentlemen  sitting  round  a 
table  on  which  were  candles  lit  and  bowls  full  of  strong 
drink  ;  nearly  every  man  had  his  pipe  at  his  lips  and  his  glass 
before  him,  and  one  of  them  was  singing  to  the  accompani- 
ment of  a  guitar.  Their  faces  were  red  and  swollen,  as  if 
they  had  taken  too  much.  At  one  end  of  the  table  sat 
Humphrey.  What?  could  Humphrey,  too,  be  a  reveller 
with  the  rest .-'  His  face,  which  was  gloomy,  and  his  eyes, 
which  were  sad,  showed  that  he  was  not. 

"The  officers  have  supped  together, "  said  Robin.  "It 
may  be  long  before  we  get  such  good  quarters  again.  A 
cup  of  hipsy  and  a  song  in  good  fellowship,  thou  wilt  not 
grudge  so  much  ?  " 

"  Nay,"  I  said,  "'tis  all  of  a  piece.  Like  man,  like  mas- 
ter. Officers  and  men  alike — all  drinking  and  singing.  Is 
there  not  one  good  man  in  all  the  army }  " 

As  I  spoke  one  finished  a  song  at  which  all  laughed,  ex- 
cept Humphrey,  and  drummed  the  table  with  their  fists  and 
shouted. 

Then  one  who  seemed  to  be  the  president  of  the  table 
turned  to  Humphrey. 

"Doctor,  "he  said,  "thou  wilt  not  drink,  thou  dost  not 
laugh,  and  thou  hast  not  sung.  Thou  must  be  tried  by  court- 
martial,  and  the  sentence  of  the  court  is  a  brimming  glass 
of  punch,  or  a  song." 

"Theii,  gentlemen,"  said  Humphrey,  smiling,  "  I  will 
give  you  a  song.  But  blame  me  not  if  you  mislike  it  ;  I 
made  the  song  in  praise  of  the  sweetest  woman  in  the  world, " 
He  took  the  guitar  and  struck  the  strings.  When  he  began 
to  sing  my  cheeks  flamed  and  my  breath  came  and  went, 
for  I  knew  the  song  ;  he  had  given  it  to  me  four  years  agone. 
Who  was  the  sweetest  woman  in  the  world.''  Oh  !  he  made 
this  song  for  me  1  he  made  this  song  for  me,  and  none  bu^ 


I'OR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  141 

me  !  But  these  rude  revellers  would  not  know  that — and  1 
never  guessed  that  the  song  was  for  me.  How  could  I 
think  that  he  would  write  these  extravagances  for  me  1  But 
poets  vannot  mean  what  they  say. 

"As  rides  the  moon  in  azure  skies, 
Tlie  ivviiikliiig  stars  beside; 
As  when  in  splendor  she  doth  rise, 
Their  lesser  lights  they  hide. 
So  ijeside  Celia,  when  her  face  we  see, 
All  unregarded  other  maidens  be. 

*'  As  Helen  in  the  town  of  Troy 
Shone  fair  beyond  all  thought, 
That  to  behold  her  was  a  joy 
By  death  too  poorly  bought. 
So  when  fair  Celia  deigns  the  lawn  to  grace, 
All  life,  all  joy,  dwells  in  her  lovely  face. 

"  As  the  sweet  river  floweth  by 
Green  banks  and  alders  tall, 
It  stayeth  not  for  prayer  or  sigh. 
Nor  answereth  if  we  call. 
So  Celia  heeds  not  though  Love  cry  and  weep; 
She  heavenward  wendeth  while  we  earthward  creep. 

"  The  marbled  saint,  so  cold  and  pure, 
Minds  naught  of  earthly  ways; 
Nor  can  man's  gauds  entice  or  lure 
That  fixed  heavenly  gaze. 
So  Celia,  though  thou  queen  and  empress  art, 
To  heaven,  to  heaven  alone,  belongs  thy  heart." 

Now  while  Humphrey  sang  this  song,  a  hush  fell  upon 
the  revellers  ;  they  had  expected  nothing  but  a  common 
drinking  song.  After  the  bawling  and  the  noise  and  the 
ribaldry  'twas  like  a  breath  of  fresh  air  after  the  closeness  of 
a  prison  ;  or  like  a  drink  of  pure  water  to  one  half  dead 
with  thirst. 

"Robin,"  I  said,  "there  is  one  good  man  in  the  camp." 
I  say  that  while  Humphrey  sang  this  song — which,  to  be 
sure,  was  neither  a  drinking-song,  nor  a  party-song,  nor  a 
song  of  wickedness  and  folly — the  company  looked  at  each 
other  in  silence,  and  neither  laughed  nor  offered  to  interrupt. 
Nay,  there  were  signs  of  grace  in  some  of  their  faces  which 
became  gr«».ve  and  thoughtful.  When  Humphrey  finished 
it,  he  laid  4own  the  guitar  and  rose  up  with  a  bow,  saying, 
"I  have  Sung  my  song,  gentlemen  all — and  so,  good- 
night 1  "  a^d  walked  out  of  the  room. 

"  Robir>,"  I  said  again,  "thank  God,  there  is  one  good 
man  in  tl»e  camp  !     I  had  forgotten  Humphrey." 


142  t-Ok  t^AlT IT  AND  FREEDOM. 

"Yes,"  Robin  replied;  "  Humphrey  is  a  good  man,  ft 
ever  there  was  one.  But  he  is  g-Uim.  Something-  oppresses 
him.  His  eyes  are  troubled,  and  he  hangs  his  head  ;  or  if 
he  laughs  at  all,  it  is  as  if  he  would  rather  cry.  Yet  all  the 
way  home  from  Holland  he  was  joyful,  save  when  his  head 
was  held  over  the  side  of  the  ship.  He  sang  and  laughed  ; 
he  spoke  of  great  things  about  to  happen.  I  have  never 
known  him  more  happy.  And  now  his  face  is  gloomy,  anc 
he  sighs  when  he  thinks  no  one  watcheth  him.  Perhaps, 
like  thee,  sweet,  he  cannot  abide  the  noise  and  riot  of  the 
camp.  He  would  fain  see  every  man  Bible  in  hand.-  To-day 
he  spent  two  hours  with  the  duke  before  the  council,  and 
was  with  thy  father  afterwards.  'Tis  certain  that  the  duke 
hath  great  confidence  in  him.  Why  is  he  so  gloomy  ?  He 
bitterly  reproached  me  for  leaving  Sir  Christopher,  as  if  he 
alone  had  a  conscience  to  obey  or  honor  to  remember  !  " 

Humphrey  came  forth  at  this  moment  and  stood  for  a 
moment  on  the  steps.  Then  he  heaved  a  great  sigh  and 
walked  away  slowly,  with  hanging  head,  not  seeing  us. 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  him  }  "  said  Robin.  "  Perhaps 
they  flout  him  for  being  a  physician.  These  fellows  have 
no  respect  for  learning  or  for  any  one  who  is  not  a  country 
gentleman.  Well,  perhaps  when  we  are  on  the  march  he 
will  again  pick  up  his  spirits.  They  are  going  to  sing  again. 
Shall  we  go,  child  ?  " 

But  the  president  called  a  name  which  made  me  stop  a 
little  longer. 

"Barnaby!"  he  cried;  "jolly  Captain  Bamaby  !  Now 
that  Doctor  Graveairs  hath  left  us  we  will  begin  the  night. 
Barnaby,  my  hero,  thy  song.  Fill  up,  gentlemen  !  The 
night  is  young,  and  to-morrow  we  march.  Captain  Barna- 
by, tip  us  a  sea-song.  Silence,  gentlemen,  for  the  captain's 
song. " 

It  was  my  brother  that  they  called  upon — no  other.  He 
got  up  from  his  place  at  the  summons  and  rose  to  his  feet. 
Heavens  !  what  a  broad  man  he  seemed  compared  with 
those  who  sat  beside  him !  His  face  was  red  and  his 
cheeks  swollen  because  of  the  strong  drink  he  had  taken. 
In  his  hand  he  held  a  full  glass  of  it.  Robin  called  it  hipsy 
— and  it  is  a  mixture  of  wine,  brandy,  and  water,  with 
lemon  juice  and  sugar — very  heady  and  strong. 

Said  not  Barnaby  that  there  was  one  religion  for  a  lands- 
man and  another  for  a  sailor  ?  I  thought  of  that  as  he  stood 
looking  round  him.  If  it  were  so,  it  would  be  truly  a  happy 
circumstance  for  most  sailors  ;  but  I  know  not  on  what  as- 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  143 

surance  this  belief  can  be  argued.  Then  Barnaby  waved 
his  hand. 

"  Yoho  !  my  lads  !  "  he  shouted.  "  The  ship's  in  port 
and  the  crew  has  gone  ashore  !  " 

Then  he  began  to  sing  in  a  deep  voice  which  made  the 
glasses  ring — 

"Shut  the  door — lock  the  door — 
Out  of  window  fling  the  key. 

Hasten;  bring  me  more,  bring  me  more: 
Fill  it  up.      Fill  it  up  for  me. 

The  daylight  which  you  think, 

The  daylight  which  you  think, 

The  daylight  which  you  think, 
'Tis  but  the  candle's  flicker: 

The  morning  star  will  never  wink, 

The  morning  star  will  never  wink, 
Till  there  cometli  stint  of  liquor. 

For  'tis  tipple,  tipple,  tipple  all  around  the  world,  my  lads, 

And  the  sun  in  drink  is  nightly  lapped  and  curled. 

And  to-night  let  us  drink,  and  to-morrow  we'll  to  sea; 

For  'tis  tipple,  tipple,  tipple — yes,  'tis  tipple,  tipple,  tipple- 
Makes  the  world  and  us  to  jee!  " 

"Take  me  home,  Robin,"  I  said,  "  I  have  seen  and  heard 
enough.  Alas  1  we  have  need  of  all  the  prayers  that  we  can 
utter  from  the  depths  of  our  heart,  and  more  I " 


CHAPTER  XX. 

benjamin's  warning. 

Since  I  have  so  much  to  tell  of  Benjamin's  evil  conduct,  it 
must,  in  justice,  be  recorded  of  him  that  at  this  juncture  he 
endeavored,  knowing  more  of  the  world  than  we  of  Somer- 
set, to  warn  and  dissuade  his  cousins  from  taking  part  in 
any  attempt  which  should  be  made  in  the  west.  And  this 
he  did  by  means  of  a  letter  written  to  his  father.  I  know 
not  how  far  the  letter  might  have  succeeded,  but  unfortu- 
nately it  arrived  two  or  three  days  too  late,  when  the  boys 
had  already  joined  the  insurgents.     He  wrote  : 

"Honored  Sir, — I  write  this  epistle,  being  much  concerned  inspirit 
lest  my  grandfather,  whose  leanings  are  well  known,  not  only  in  hl« 
own  county  but  also  to  the  court,  .should  be  drawn  into,  or  become  C09- 


(44  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

riizant  of,  some  attempt  to  raise  the  West  Country  against  their  lawful 
king.  It  will  nut  be  news  to  you  tliat  the  Earl  of  Argyle  hath  landecj 
in  tjcolland.  where  he  will  meet  with  a  reception  which  will  doubtless 
cause  him  to  repent  of  his  rashness.  It  is  also  currently  leported,  and 
everywhere  believed,  that  the  Duke  of  Moninoulli  intends  immediately 
to  embark  and  cross  the  sea  with  the  design  of  raising  ilie  country  in 
rebellion.  The  Dissenters,  who  have  been  going  about  with  sour  looks 
for  fivc-and-Lwenty  years,  venture  now  to  smile  and  look  pleased  in  an- 
ticipation of  another  civil  war.  This  may  follow,  but  its  termination,  I 
think,  will  not  be  what  they  expect. 

"  I  have  also  heard  that  my  C(msin  Humphrey,  Dr.  Ey kin's  favorite 
pupil,  who  hath  never  concealed  his  opinions,  hath  lately  returned  from 
Holland  (where  the  exiles  are  gathered)  and  passed  through  London  ac- 
companied by  Kobin.  I  have  fui  ther  learned  that  while  in  London  he 
visited  (but  alone,  without  Robin's  knowledge)  many  of  those  who  are 
known  to  be  friends  of  the  duke  and  red-hot  Protestants.  Wherefore  I 
greatly  fear  that  he  hath  been  in  correspondence  with  the  exiles,  and  is 
cognizant  of  their  designs,  and  may  even  be  their  messenger  to  an- 
nounce the  intentions  of  his  Protestant  cliampion.  Certain  I  am  that 
should  any  chance  occur  of  striking  a  blow  for  freedom  of  worship,  my 
cousin,  though  he  is  weak  and  of  slender  frame,  will  join  the  attempt. 
He  will  also  endeavor  to  draw  after  him  every  one  in  his  power.  There- 
fore, my  dear  father,  use  all  your  influence  to  withstand  liim,  and  if  he 
must,  for  his  part,  plunge  into  ruin,  persuade  my  grandfather  and  my 
cousin  Robin  to  stay  quiet  at  home. 

"  I  hear  it  on  the  best  authority  that  the  temper  of  the  country,  and 
especially  in  your  part  of  it,  hatli  been  carefully  studied  by  the  govern- 
ment and  is  perfectly  well  known.  Those  who  would  risk  life  and 
lands  for  the  Duke  of  Monmouth  are  few  indeed.  He  may,  perhaps, 
draw  a  rabble  after  him,  but  no  more.  The  fat  tradesmen  who  most 
long  for  the  conventicle  will  not  fight  though  they  may  pray  for  him. 
The  country  gentlemen  may  V)e  Protestants,  but  they  are  mostly  for  the 
(/hurch  of  England  and  the  king.  It  is  quite  true  that  his  majesty  is  a 
Roman  Catholic,  nor  hath  he  ever  concealed  or  denied  his  religion,  being 
one  who  scorns  deceptions.  It  is  also  trtie  that  his  profession  of  faith 
is  a  stumbling-block  to  many  who  find  it  hard  to  reconcile  their  teach- 
ing of  non-resistance  and  divine  right  with  the  introduction  of  the  mass 
and  the  Romish  priest.  But  the  country  hath  not  yet  forgotten  the 
iron  rule  of  the  Independent,  and  rather  than  suffer  him  to  return  the 
people  will  endure  a  vast  deal  of  royal  preiogative. 

"  It  is  absolutely  certain — assure  my  grandfather  on  this  point,  what- 
ever he  may  leai'u  from  Humphrey — that  the  better  sort  will  never  join 
Monmouth,  whether  he  comes  as  another  Cromwell  to  restore  the  Com- 
monwealtii,  or  whether  he  aspires  to  the  crown  and  dares  to  maintain 
— a  thing  which  King  Charles  did  always  stoutly  deny — that  his  motlier 
was  married.  Is  it  credible  that  the  ancient  throne  of  tliese  kingdoms 
should  be  mounted  by  the  baseborn  son  of  Lucy  Waters  ? 

"I  had  last  night  the  honor  of  drinking  a  bottle  of  wine  with  that 
great  lawyer.  Sir  George  Jeffreys.  The  conversation  turned  upon  this 
subject.  We  were  assured  by  the  jud^e  that  the  affections  of  the  people 
are  wholly  with  the  king;  that  the  liberty  of  worship  which  he  demands 
for  himself  he  will  extend  to  the  country,  so  that  the  la-t  pretence  of 
reason  for  disaffection  shall  be  removed.  Why  should  the  people  run 
after  Monmouth  when,  if  he  were  successful,  he  would  give  no  more 
than  the  king  is  ready  to  give.  I  was  also  privately  warned  by  Sir 
G«orge  that  my  grandfather's  name  is  unfavorably  noted,  and  faJS  a» 


POR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  14^ 

tions  and  speeches  will  be  watched.  Therefore,  sir,  I  humbly  beg  that 
you  will  represent  to  him  and  to  my  cousins,  and  to  Dr.  Eykin  himself, 
first,  the  hopelessness  of  any  such  enterprise  and  the  certainty  of  de- 
feat; and  next,  the  punishment  which  will  fall  upon  the  rebels  and 
upon  those  who  lend  them  any  countenance.  Men  of  such  a  temper  as 
Dr.  Comfort  Eykin  will  doubtless  go  to  ilie  scaffold  willingly,  with  their 
mouths  full  of  the  texts  which  they  apply  to  themselves  on  all  occa- 
sions. For  such  I  have  no  pity;  yet.  for  the  sake  of  his  wife  and 
daughter,  I  would  willingly,  if  I  could,  save  him  from  the  fate  which 
will  be  his  if  Monmouth  lands  on  the  west.  And  as  for  my  grand- 
father,'tis  terrible  to  think  of  his  white  hairs  blown  by  the  breeze 
while  the  hangman  adjusts  the  knot,  and  I  should  shudder  to  see  the 
blackened  limbs  of  Robin  stuck  upon  poles  for  all  the  world  to  see. 

*•  It  is  my  present  intention,  if  my  affairs  permit,  to  follow  my  for- 
tunes on  the  western  circuit  in  the  autumn,  when  I  shall  endeavor  to 
ride  from  Taunton  or  Exeter  to  Bradford  Orcas.  My  practice  grows 
apace.  Daily  I  am  heard  in  the  courts.  The  judges  already  know  me 
and  listen  to  me.  The  juries  begin  to  feel  the  weiglit  of  my  arguments. 
The  attorneys  besiege  my  chambers.  For  a  junior  I  am  in  great  de- 
mand. It  is  my  prayer  that  you,  sir,  may  live  to  see  your  son  chancel- 
lor cf  the  exchequer  and  a  peer  of  the  realm.  Less  than  chancellor 
will  not  content  me.  As  for  marriage,  that  might  hinder  my  rise — J 
shall  not  marry  yet.  There  is  in  your  parish,  sir,  one  who  knows  ray 
mind  upon  this  matter.  I  shall  be  pleased  to  think  that  you  will  as 
sure  her — j'ou  know  very  well  whom  I  mean — that  my  mind  is  unalter- 
ed and  that  my  way  is  now  plain  before  me. 

"So,  I  remain,  with  dutiful  respect,  your  obedient  son, 

■'B.  B." 

This  letter  arrived,  I  say,  after  the  departure  of  Robin  with 
his  company  of  village  lads. 

When  Mr.  Boscorel  had  read  it  slowly  and  twice  over,  so 
as  to  lose  no  point  of  the  contents,  he  sat  and  pondered 
awhile.  Then  he  arose  and  with  troubled  face  he  sought 
Sir  Christopher,  to  whom  he  read  it  through.  Then  he 
waited  for  Sir  Christopher  to  speak. 

"The  boy  writes,  "said  his  honor,  after  awhile,  "accord- 
ing to  his  lights.  He  repeats  the  things  he  hears  said  by 
his  boon  companions.  Nay,  more,  he  believes  them.  Why, 
it  is  easy  for  them  to  swear  loyalty  and  to  declare  in  their 
cups  where  the  affections  of  the  people  are  placed." 

"  Sir  Christopher,  what  is  done  cannot  be  undone.  The 
boys  are  gone — alas  ! — but  you  still  remain.  Take  heed  for 
a  space  what  you  say  as  well  as  what  you  do. " 

"  How  should  they  know  the  temper  of  the  country?  "  Sir 
Christopher  went  on,  regardless.  "What  doth  the  foul- 
mouthed  profligate,  Sir  George  Jeffreys,  know  concerning 
sober  and  godly  people?  These  are  not  noisy  templars  ; 
they  are  not  profligates  of  the  cf)urt  ;  they  are  not  haunters  of 
tavern  and  pothouse  ;  they  are  not  those  who  frequent  the 
playhouse.     Judge    Jeffreys   knows  none  such,      They  are 


^46  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

lovers  of  the  Word  of  God  ;  they  wish  to  worship  after  theii 
fashion  ;  they  hate  the  pope  and  all  his  works.  Let  us  heal 
what  these  men  say  upon  the  matter. " 

"Nay,"  said  Mr.  Boscorel,  "  I  care  not  greatly  what  they 
say.     But  would  to  God  the  boys  were  safe  returned." 

"Benjamin  means  well,"  Sir  Christopher  went  on,  "I  take 
this  warning-  kindly  ;  he  meant  well.  It  pleases  me  that  in 
the  midst  of  the  work  and  the  feasting  which  he  loves  he 
thinks  upon  us.  Tell  him,  son-in-law,  that  I  thank  him  for 
his  letter.      It  shows  that  he  has  preserved  a  good  heart" 

"As  for  his  good  heart,"  Mr.  Boscorel  stroked  his  nose 
with  his  forefinger,  "  so  long  as  Benjamin  gets  what  he 
wants,  which  is  Benjamin's  mess,  and  five  times  the  mess  of 
any  other,  there  is  no  doubt  of  his  good  heart. " 

"  Worse  things  than  these,"  said  Sir  Christopher,  "were 
said  of  us  when  the  civil  wars  began.  The  king's  troops 
would  ride  us  down  ;  the  country  would  not  join  us  ;  those 
of  us  who  were  not  shot  or  cut  down  in  the  field  would  be 
afterwards  hanged,  drawn,  and  quartered.  Yet  we  drove 
the  king  from  his  throne." 

"And  then  the  king  came  back  again.  So  we  go  up  and 
so  we  go  down.  But  about  this  expedition  and  about  these 
boys  my  mind  misgives    me." 

"Son-in-law,"  Sir  Christopher  said,  solemnly,  "  I  am  now 
old,  and  the  eyes  of  my  mind  are  dim,  so  that  I  no  longer 
discern  the  signs  of  the  times,  or  follow  the  current  of  the 
stream  ;  moreover,  we  hear  but  little  news,  so  that  I  cannot 
even  see  any  of  those  signs.  Yet  to  men  in  old  age,  before 
they  pass  away  to  the  rest  provided  by  the  Lord,  there  cometh 
sometimes  a  vision  by  which  they  are  enabled  to  ses  clearly 
when  younger  men  are  still  groping  their  way  in  a  kind  of 
twilight.  Monmouth  hath  landed  ;  my  boys  are  with  him  ; 
they  are  rebels  ;  should  the  rising  fail,  their  lives  are  forfeit, 
and  that  of  my  dear  friend.  Dr.  Comfort  Eykin  ;  yea,  and 
my  life  as  well,  belike,  because  I  have  been  a  consenting 
party.  Ruin  and  death  will,  in  that  event,  fall  upon  all  of 
us.  Whether  it  will  so  happen  I  know  not,  nor  do  I  weigh 
the  chance  of  that  event  against  the  voice  of  conscience,  duty, 
and  honor.  My  boys  have  obeyed  that  voice  ;  they  have 
gone  forth  to  conquer  or  to  die.  My  vision  doth  not  tell  me 
what  will  happen  to  them.  But  it  shows  me  the  priest  fly- 
ing from  the  country,  the  king  flying  from  the  throne,  and 
that  fair  angel  whom  we  call  freedom  of  conscience  return- 
ing to  bless  the  land.  To  know  that  the  laws  of  God  will 
triumph — ought  not  that  to  reconcile  a  man  alreiu'.y  seventy- 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FkEEDOM  I47 

five  years  of  age  to  death,  even  a  death  upon  the  gallows  ? 
What  matter  for  this  earthly  body  so  that  it  be  spent  until  the 
end  in  the  service  of  the  Lord  ? " 


CHAPTER  XXL 

WE   WAIT   FOR   THE    END. 

I  HAVE  said  that  my  father  from  the  beginning  unto  the  end 
of  this  business  was  as  one  beside  himself,  being  in  a^  ecstasy 
or  rapture  of  mind,  insomuch  that  he  heeded  nothing.  The 
letters  he  sent  out  to  his  friends  the  Nonconformists  either 
brought  no  answer  or  else  they  heaped  loads  of  trouble, 
being  interaepted  and  read,  upon  those  to  whom  they  were 
addressed.  But  he  was  not  moved.  The  defection  of  his 
friends  and  of  the  gentry  caused  him  no  uneasiness.  Nay, 
he  even  closed  his  eyes  and  ears  to  the  drinking,  the  profane 
oaths,  and  the  riotous  living  in  the  camp.  Others  there 
were,  like-minded  with  himself,  who  saw  the  hand  of  the 
Lord  in  this  enterprise,  and  thought  that  it  would  succeed  by 
a  miracle.  The  desertions  of  the  men  which  afterwards  fol- 
lowed, and  the  defection  of  those  who  should  have  joined — 
these  things  were  but  the  weeding  of  the  host,  which  should 
be  still  further  weeded,  as  in  a  well-known  chapter  in  the 
Book  of  Judges,  until  none  but  the  righteous  should  be  left 
behind.  These  things  he  preached  daily,  and  with  mighty 
fervor,  to  all  who  would  listen,  but  these  were  few  in  num- 
ber. 

As  regards  his  wife  and  daughter,  he  took  no  thought  for 
them  at  all,  being  wholly  enwrapped  in  his  work  :  he  did 
not  so  much  as  ask  if  we  had  money — to  be  sure,  for  five- 
and-twenty  years  he  had  never  asked  that  question — or  if 
we  were  safely  bestowed  or  if  we  were  well.  Never  have  I 
seen  any  man  so  careless  of  all  earthly  affections  when  he 
considered  the  work  of  the  Lord.  But  when  the  time  came 
for  the  army  to  march  what  were  we  to  do.^  Where  should 
we  be  bestowed  } 

"  As  to  following  the  army,"  said  Robin,  "that  is  absurd. 
We  know  not  whither  we  may  march  or  what  the  course  of 
events  may  order.  You  cannot  go  home  without  an  armed 
escort,  for  the  country  is  up,   the  clubmen  are  out  every- 


148  POk  FA iTff  AXD  FREEDOM. 

where  to  protect  their  cattle  and  horses  ;  a  rough  and  rude 
folk  they  would  be  to  meet,  and  the  gypsies  are  robbing 
and  plundering.  Can  you  stay  here  until  we  come  back, 
or  until  the  country  hath  settled  down  again?  " 

Miss  Blake  generously  promised  that  we  should  stay  with 
her  as  long  as  we  chose,  adding  many  kind  things  about 
myself,  out  of  friendship  and  a  good  heart ;  and  so  it  Was 
resolved  that  we  should  remain  in  Taunton,  where  no  harm 
could  befall  us,  while  my  father  still  accompanied  the  army 
to  exhort  the  soldiers. 

"I  will  take  care  of  him,"  said  Barnaby.  "He  shall  not 
preach  of  a  morning  till  he  hath,  taken  breakfast,  nor  shall 
he  go  to  bed  until  he  hath  had  his  supper.  So  long  as  the 
provisions  last  out  he  shall  have  his  ration.  After  that  I 
cannot  say.  Maybe  we  shall  all  go  on  short  commons,  as 
hath  happened  to  me  already;  and,  truth  to  tell,  I  love  it 
not.  All  these  things  belong  to  the  voyage  and  are  part  of 
our  luck.  Farewell,  therefore,  mother.  Heart  up.  All 
will  go  well.  Kiss  me,  sister  ;  we  shall  all  come  back 
again.  Never  fear.  King  Monmouth  shall  be  crowned  in 
Westminster,  dad  shall  be  Archbishop  of  Canterbury,  and 
I  shall  be  captain  of  a  king's  ship.  All  our  fortunes  shall  be 
made,  and  you,  sister,  shall  have  a  great  estate,  and  shall 
marry  whom  you  please — Robin  or  another.  As  for  the 
gentry  who  have  not  come  forward,  hang 'em  !  we'll  divide 
their  estates  between  us  and  so  change  places,  and  they  will 
be  so  astonished  at  not  bemg  shot  for  cowardice  that  they 
will  rejoice  and  be  glad  to  clean  our  boots.  Thus  shall  we 
all  be  happy." 

So  they  marched  away,  Monmouth  being  now  at  the  head 
of  an  army  seven  thousand  strong,  and  all  in  such  spirits 
that  you  would  have  thought  nothing  could  withstand  them. 
And  when  I  consider  and  remember  how  that  army  marched 
back,  with  the  cheers  of  the  men  and  the  laughter  and  jokes 
of  the  young  recruits,  the  tears  run  down  my  cheeks  for 
thinking  how  their  joy  was  turned  to  mourning,  and  life 
was  exchanged  for  death.  The  last  I  saw  of  Robin  was 
that  he  was  turning  in  his  saddle  to  wave  his  hand,  his  face 
full  of  confidence  and  joy.  The  only  gloomy  face  in  the 
whole  army  that  morning  was  the  face  of  Humphrey. 
Afterwards  I  learned  that  almost  from  the  beginning  he  fore- 
saw certain  disaster.  In  the  tirst  place,  none  of  those  on 
whom  the  exiles  of  Holland  had  relied  came  into  camp  ; 
these  were  the  backbone  of  the  Protestant  party,  the  sturdy 
blood  that  had  been  freely  shed  against  Charles  the  First 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 


149 


This  was  a  bitter  disappointment.  Next,  he  saw  in  the 
army  nothing  but  a  rabble  of  country  lads,  with  such 
officers  as  Captain  Hucker,  the  serg-e-maker,  instead  of  the 
country  gentlemen  with  their  troops,  as  had  been  expected, 
and  from  the  beginning  he  distrusted  the  leaders,  even  the 
duke  himself.  So  he  hung  his  head,  and  laughed  not  with 
the  rest.  But  his  doubts  he  kept  locked  up  in  his  own  heart. 
Robin  knew  none  ot  them. 

It  was  a  preity  sight  to  see  the  Taunton  women  walking 
out  for  a  mile  and  more  with  their  lovers  who  had  joined 
Monmouth.  They  walked  hand  in  hand  with  the  men ; 
they  wore  the  Monmouth  favors.  They  had  no  more  doubt 
or  fear  of  the  event  than  their  sweethearts. 

Those  who  visit  Taunton  now  may  see  these  women 
creeping  about  the  streets  lonely  and  sorrowful,  mindful  still 
of  that  Sunday  morning  when  they  saw  their  lovers  for  the 
last  time. 

When  I  consider  the  history  of  this  expedition  I  am  amazed 
that  it  did  not  succeed.  It  was,  surely,  by  a  special  judg- 
ment of  God  that  the  victory  was  withheld  from  Monmouth 
and  reserved  for  William.  I  say  not  (presumptuously)that 
the  judgment  was  pronounced  against  the  duke  on  account 
of  his  sinful  life,  but  I  think  it  was  the  will  of  Heaven  that 
the  country  should  endure  for  three  years  the  presence  of  a 
prince  who  was  continually  seeking  to  advance  the  Catholic 
religion.  The  people  were  not  yet  ripe  perhaps,  for  that 
universal  disgust  which  caused  them  without  bloodshed  (in 
this  island  at  least)  to  pull  down  King  James  from  his  throne. 
When,  I  say,  I  consider  the  temper  and  the  courage  of 
that  great  army  which  left  Taunton,  greater  than  any  which 
the  king  could  bring  against  it ;  when  I  consider  the  mul- 
titudes who  flocked  to  the  standard  at  Bridgwater,  I  am, 
indeed,  lost  in  wonder  at  the  event. 

From  Sunday,  the  twenty-first,  when  the  army  marched 
out  of  Taunton,  till  the  news  came  of  their  rout  on  Seuge- 
moor,  we  heard  nothing  certain  about  them.  On  Tuesday 
the  Duke  of  Albemarle,  hearing  that  the  army  had  gone, 
occupied  Taunton  with  the  militia,  and  there  were  some 
who  expected  severities  on  account  of  the  welcome  given 
to  the  duke  and  the  recruits  whom  he  obtained  here. 
But  there  were  no  acts  of  revenge  that  I  heard  of ;  and. 
indeed,  he  did  not  stay  long  in  the  town.  As  for  us,  we 
remained  under  the  shelter  of  Miss  Blake's  roof,  and  daily  ex- 
pected news  of  some  great  and  signal  victorv.  But  none 
pame,  s^v?  one  letter.     Everyday  we  looked  for  this  n^ws, 


ISO 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 


and  every  day  we  planned  and  laid  down  the  victorious 
inarch  for  our  army. 

"They  will  first  occupy  Bristol,"  said  Miss  Blake.  "That 
is  certain,  because  there  are  many  stout  Protestants  in 
Bristol,  and  the  place  is  important.  Once  master  of  that 
great  city,  our  king  will  get  possession  of  ships,  and  so  will 
have  a  fleet.  There  are,  no  doubt,  plenty  of  arms  in  the 
town,  with  which  he  will  be  able  to  equip  an  army  ten 
times  greater  than  that  which  he  now  has.  Then — with, 
say,  thirty  thousand  men — he  will  march  on  London.  The 
militia  will,  of  course,  lay  down  their  arms  or  desert  at  the 
approach  of  this  great  and  resolute  army.  The  king's  regi- 
ments will  prove,  I  expect,  to  be  Protestants,  every  man. 
Oxford  will  open  her  gates.  London  will  send  out  her 
trainbands  to  welcome  the  deliverer,  and  so  our  king  will 
enter  in  triumph,  and  be  crowned  at  Westminster  Abbey — • 
one  King  James  succeeding  another.  Then  there  shall  be 
restored  to  this  distracted  country  " — being  a  schoolmistress, 
Miss  Blake  could  use  language  worthy  of  the  dignity  of 
history — "  the  blessings  of  religious  freedom  ;  and  the  pure 
word  of  God,  stripped  of  superstitious  additions  made  by 
men,  shall  be  preached  through  the  length  and  breadth  of 
the  land." 

"  What  shall  be  done,"  I  asked,   "  with  the  bishops  }  " 

"They  shall  be  suffered  to  remain,"  she  said,  speaking 
with  a  voice  of  authority,  "for  those  congregations  which 
desire  a  prelacy,  but  stripped  of  their  titles  and  of  their  vast 
revenues.  We  will  not  persecute,  but  we  will  never  suffer 
one  church  to  lord  it  over  another.  Oh  !  when  will  the 
news  come  ?     Where  is  the  army  now  ?  " 

The  letter  of  which  I  have  spoken  was  from  Robin. 

"  Sweetheart,"  he  said,  "  all  goes  well  so  far.  At  Bridg- 
water we  have  received  a  welcome  only  second  to  that  <>( 
Taunton.  The  mayor  and  aldermen  proclaimed  our  king 
at  the  high  cross,  and  the  people  have  sent  to  the  camj: 
great  store  of  provisions  and  arms  of  all  kinds.  We  are  now 
six  regiments  of  foot,  with  a  thousand  cavalry,  besides  the 
king's  own  bodyguard.  We  have  many  good  friends  at 
Bridgwater,  especially  one  Mr.  Roger  Hoar,  who  is  a  rich 
merchant  of  the  place,  and  is  very  zealous  in  the  cause. 
Your  father  preached  on  Sunday  evening  from  the  text 
Deuteronomy  vii.  5:  'Ye  shall  destroy  their  altars,  and 
break  down  their  images,  and  cut  down  their  groves,  and 
burn  their  graven  images  with  tire.'  It  was  a  most  moving 
discourse,  which  fired  the  hearts  of  all  who  heard  it. 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  \  5 1 

"They  say  that  our  chief  is  downhearted  because  the 
nobility  and  gentry  have  not  come  in.  They  only  wait 
for  the  first  victory,  after  which  they  will  come  in  by  hun- 
dreds. But  some  of  our  men  look  forward  to  depriving  them 
of  their  estates  and  dividing  them  among  themselves  ;  and 
already  the  colonels  and  majors  are  beginning  to  reckon  up 
the  great  rewards  which  await  them.  As  for  me,  there  is 
but  one  reward  for  which  I  pray,  namely,  to  return  untc 
Bradford  Orcas  and  to  the  arms  of  my  sweet  saint  Lord 
Churchill  is  reported  to  be  at  Chard  :  there  has  been  a  brush 
in  the  Forest  of  Neroche  between  the  scouts,  and  it  is  said 
that  all  the  roads  are  guarded  so  that  recruits  shall  be  arrest- 
ed, or  at  least  driven  back.  Perhaps  this  is  the  reason  why 
the  gentry  sit  down.  Barnaby  says  that,  so  far,  there  have 
been  provisions  enough  and  to  spare,  and  he  hopes  the 
present  plenty  may  continue.  No  ship's  crew  can  fight,  he 
says,  on  half  rations.  Our  march  will  be  on  Bristol.  I 
hope  and  believe  that  when  we  have  gotten  that  great  town 
our  end  is  sure.      Humphrey  continueth  glum." 

Many  women  there  were  who  passed  that  time  in  prayer, 
continually  offering  up  supplications  on  behalf  of  husband, 
brother,  lover,  or  son.  But  at  Taunton  the  rector,  one 
Walter  Harte,  a  zealous  High  Churchman,  came  forth  from 
hiding,  and,  with  the  magistrates,  said  prayers  daily  for 
King  James  the  Second. 

To  tell  what  follows  is  to  renew  a  time  of  agony  unspeak- 
able. Yet  must  it  be  told.  Farewell,  happy  days  of  hope 
and  confidence  !  Farewell,  the  sweet  exchange  of  dreams  ! 
Farewell  to  our  lovely  hero,  the  gracious  duke  !  All  the 
troubles  that  man's  mind  can  conceive  were  permitted  to  be 
rained  upon  our  heads — defeat,  wounds,  death,  prison — 
nay,  for  me  such  a  thing  as  no  one  could  have  expected  or 
even  feared — such  a  fate  as  never  entered  the  mind  of  man 
to  invent. 

When  the  duke  marched  out  of  Bridgwater  across  Sedge- 
moor  to  Glastonbury,  the  weather,  which  had  been  hot  and 
fine,  became  cold  and  rainy,  which  made  the  men  uncom- 
fortable. At  Glastonbury  they  camped  in  the  ruins  of  the 
old  abbey.  Thence  they  went  to  Shcpton  Mallet,  the  spirits 
of  the  men  still  being  high.  From  Shepton  Mallet  they 
marched  to  a  place  called  Pensford,  f)nly  five  miles  from 
Bristol.  Here  they  heard  that  the  bridge  over  the  Avon  at 
Keynsham  was  broken  down.  This  being  presently  re- 
paired, the  army  marchetl  across.  They  were  then  within 
easy  reach  pf  Bristol, 


153 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM 


And  now  began  the  disasters  of  the  enterprise.  Up  to 
this  time  everything  had  prospered.  Had  the  duke  boldiy 
attacked  Bristol  (I  speak  not  of  my  own  wisdom,  having 
none  in  such  matters  of  warfare)  he  would  have  encountered 
no  more  than  twenty  companies  or  thereabouts  of  militia 
and  a  regiment  of  two  hundred  and  fifty  horse.  Moreover, 
Bristol  was  full  of  dissenters,  who  wanted  nothing  but  en- 
couragement to  join  the  Protestant  champion.  Not  only 
the  duke's  friends,  but  also  his  enemies,  agree  in  declaring 
that  it  wanted  nothing  but  courage  to  take  that  great,  rich, 
and  populous  city,  where  he  would  have  found  everything 
that  he  wanted — men  and  money,  arms  and  ammunition. 
I  cannot  but  think  that  for  his  sms,  or  for  the  sins  of  the 
iiation,  a  judicial  blindness  was  caused  to  fall  upon  the 
duke,  so  that  he  chose,  of  two  ways  open  to  him,  that 
which  led  to  his  destruction.  In  short,  he  turned  away 
from  Bristol  and  drew  up  his  forces  against  Bath.  When  he 
summoned  that  city  to  surrender  they  shot  his  herald  and 
scoffed  at  him.  Then,  instead  of  taking  the  town,  the  duke 
retired  to  Philip's  Norton,  where,  'tis  said,  he  expected  some 
great  reinforcements.  But  none  came  ;  and  he  now  grew 
greatly  dejected,  showing  his  dejection  in  his  face,  which 
could  conceal  nothing.  Yet  had  he  fought  an  action  with 
his  half-brother,  the  l3uke  of  Grafton,  in  which  he  was  vic- 
torious, a  thing  which  ought  to  have  helped  him.  In  this 
action  Lieutenant  Blake,  !Miss  Blake's  cousin,  was  killed. 
From  Philip's  Norton  the  army  marched  to  Frome,  and 
here,  such  was  the  general  despondency,  that  two  thousand 
men — a  third  of  the  whole  army — deserted  in  the  night  and 
returned  to  their  own  homes.  I  think,  also,  it  was  at  PYome 
that  they  learned  the  news  of  Lord  Argyle  s  discomfiture. 

Then  a  council  was  held  at  which  it  was  proposed  that 
the  army  should  be  disbanded  and  ordered  to  return,  seeing 
that  the  king  had  proclaimed  a  pardon  to  all  who  would 
j-jcacefully  lay  down  their  arms  and  return  home  ;  and  that 
the  duke,  with  Lord  Grey  and  those  who  would  be  certainly 
exempted  from  that  pardon,  should  make  the  best  of  their 
way  out  of  the  country. 

Alas  !  There  was  a  way  open  to  safety  of  all  those  pooi 
men  ;  but  again  was  the  duke  permitted  to  choose  the  other 
way,  that,  namely,  which  led  to  the  destruction  of  h:s  army 
and  himself.  Yet  they  say  that  he  himself  recommended 
the  safer  course.  He  must  have  known  that  he  wanted 
arms  and  ammunition,  that  his  men  were  deserting,  and 
that  no  more  recruits  came  in.     Colonel  Yenncr,  one  of  hi^ 


I'OR  FAITJl  AXD  l'REEDO.\t  153 

principal  men,  was  at  this  juncture  sent  away  to  Holland  in 
order  to  get  assistance  in  arms  and  money.  And  the  king's 
proclamation  of  pardon  was  carefully  kept  from  the  knowl- 
edge of  the  soldiers. 

On  July  the  fourth  the  army  returned  to  Bridgwater,  and 
now  Dr.  Hooke,  chaplain  to  the  army,  and  some  of  the 
officers  were  sent  away  secretly  in  order  to  raise  an  insur- 
rection in  London  and  elsewhere,  the  only  hope  now  being 
that  risings  in  various  parts  would  call  away  some  of  the 
king's  forces  from  the  west.  Some  of  the  Taunton  men  in 
the  army  rode  from  Bridgwater  to  see  their  friends.  But 
we  women  (who  for  the  most  part  remained  at  home) 
learned  no  news  save  that  as  yet  there  had  been  no  signal 
victory  ;  we  did  not  hear  of  the  large  desertions  nor  of  the 
duke's  despondency.  Therefore  we  continued  in  our  fool's 
paradise  and  looked  for  nothing  but  some  great  and  crown- 
ing mercy.  Those  who  are  on  the  side  of  the  Lord  are  al- 
ways expecting  some  special  interference :  whereas  they 
ought  to  be  satisfied  with  being  on  the  right  side,  whether 
victory  or  defeat  be  intended  for  them.  In  this  enterprise  I 
doubt  not  that  those  godly  men  (there  were  indeed  some 
godly  men)  who  fell  in  battle  or  were  afterwards  executed, 
received  their  reward,  and  that  a  far,  far  greater  reward  than 
their  conduct  deserved — for  who  can  measure  the  short 
agony  of  death  beside  the  everlasting  life  of  glory  and  joy 
unspeakable  ? 

The  last  day  of  this  fatal  expedition  was  Sunday  the  fifth 
day  of  July:  so  that  it  took  no  more  than  three  weeks  in 
all  between  its  first  beginning  and  its  failure.  Only  three 
weeks  !  But  how  much  longer  was  it  before  the  punish- 
ment and  the  expiation  were  concluded  .?  Nay,  are  they 
even  yet  concluded,  when  thousands  of  innocent  women 
and  children  still  go  in  poverty  and  mourning  for  the  loss 
of  those  who  should  have  worked  for  them  ? 

In  the  morning  my  father  preached  to  the  soldiers  on  the 
text  (Joshua  xxii.  22),  "The  Lord  God  of  gods,  the  Lord 
God  of  gods,  he  knoweth,  and  Israel  he  shall  know,  if  it 
be  in  rebellion,  or  if  in  transgression  against  the  Lord, 
(save  us  not  this  day)." 

And  now  the  time  was  come  when  the  last  battle  was  to 
be  fought. 

The  Earl  of  Feversham,  who  had  been  at  Somcrton, 
marched  this  day  across  Scdgcmoor  and  encamped  at 
Weston  Zoyland,  which  is  but  five  or  six  miles  from  Bridg- 
water.     Now  it  chanced  that  one  William   Sparke  of  Ched* 


1 54  ^^^'  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

zoy,  hearing'  of  this  advance,  climbed  the  church  tower, 
and  by  aid  of  a  spying-glass,  such  as  sailors  use  at  sea, 
discerned  clearly  the  approach  of  the  army  and  its  halt  at 
Weston,  Being  a  well-wisher  to  the  duke,  he  sent  one  of 
his  men,  Richard  Godfrey  by  name,  with  orders  to  spy  into 
and  learn  the  position  and  numbers  of  the  earl's  army  and 
to  carry  his  information  straightway  to  Bridgwater.  This 
duty  the  fellow  promised  and  most  faithfully  performed. 

The  duke  had  already  learned  the  approach  of  Lord  f'ever- 
sham,  and  being  now  well-nigh  desperate  with  his  con- 
tinued losses,  and  seeing  his  army  gradually  wasting  away, 
with  no  fresh  recruits,  he  had  resolved  upon  not  waiting  to 
be  attacked,  but  on  a  retreat  northwards,  hoping  to  get 
across  the  bridge  at  Keynsham  and  so  march  into  Shrop- 
shire and  Cheshire,  where  still  he  hoped  to  raise  another 
army.  But  (says  he  who  hath  helped  me  with  this  brief 
account  of  the  expedition)  the  retreat,  which  would  have 
been  harassed  by  Lord  Feversham's  horse,  would  have 
turned  into  flight ;  the  men  would  have  deserted  in  all  di- 
rections, and  when  the  remains  of  the  army  arrived  at  Keyn- 
sham Bridge  they  would  certainly  have  found  it  occupied 
by  the  Duke  of  Beaufort. 

The  carriages  were  already  loaded  in  readiness  for  this 
march — it  was  to  begin  at  nightfall — when  the  arrival  of  the 
man  Godfrey,  and  the  news  that  he  brought,  caused  the 
duke  to  change  everything.  For  he  now  perceived  that 
such  a  chance  was  offered  him  as  had  never  before  occurred 
since  his  landing,  viz.,  a  night  surprise,  and,  if  he  were 
fortunate,  the  rout  of  the  king's  best  troops. 

It  is  said  that  had  the  duke  shown  the  same  boldness  in 
the  matter  of  Bristol  that  he  showed  in  this  night  at- 
tack he  would  have  gained  that  city  first  and  his  own 
cause  next.  Nor  did  it  appear  at  all  a  desperate  attempt. 
For  though  Lord  Feversham  had  twenty-five  hundred  men 
v/ith  him,  horse  and  foot,  with  sixteen  field  pieces,  the  duke 
had  nearly  three  thousand  foot  and  six  hundred  horse  with 
four  field  pieces  ;  and  though  the  king's  troops  included 
many  companies  of  grenadiers,  with  a  battalion  of  that 
famous  regiment  the  Coldstream  Guards,  and  some  hundred 
horse  of  the  king's  regiment  and  dragoons,  the  duke  had 
with  him  at  least  two  thousand  men  well  armed  and  reso- 
lute, as  the  event  showed.  Besides  this  he  had  the  advan- 
tage of  the  surprise  and  confusion  of  a  night  attack.  And, 
in  addition,  the  camp  was  not  entrenched,  the  troopers  had 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  1 5  5 

all  gone  to  bed,  the  foot  soldiers  were   drinking  cider,    and 
the  officers  were  reported  to  be  all  drunk. 

Therefore  it  was  resolved  that  the  intended'  flight  into 
Shropshire  should  be  abandoned,  and  that  the  whole  mat- 
ter should  be  brought  to  an  issue  this  very  night. 

Had  the  attack  succeeded  all  might  yet  have  gone  well 
with  the  duke.  His  enemies  boasted  that  his  raw  country 
lads  would  be  routed  at  the  first  charge  of  regular  soldiers 
if  he  proved  the  contrary,  those  who  had  deserted  bin- 
would  have  returned,  those  who  held  aloof  would  join  ;  it 
was  not  the  cause  which  found  men  lukewarm,  it  was  the 
doubt — and  nothing  but  the  doubt,  whether  the  duke's  en- 
terprise would  be  supported.  And  I  have  never  heard  that 
any  found  aught  but  commendation  of  the  boldness  and 
spirit  which  brought  us  the  battle  of  Sedgemoor, 

All  that  day  we  spent  in  quiet  meditation,  in  prayer,  \v 
the  reading  of  the  Bible,  and  in  godly  discourses;  and 
herein  I  must  commend  the  modesty  as  well  as  the  piety  oi 
Miss  Susan  Blake,  in  that  she  invited  my  mother,  as  her 
elder,  and  the  wife  of  an  eminent  minister,  to  conduct  the 
religious  exercises,  though  as  the  hostess  she  might  have 
demanded  that  privilege.  We  stirred  not  abroad  at  all.  The 
meeting-houses,  which  had  been  opened  when  the  duke 
marched  in,  were  now  closed  again. 

In  the  evening  while  we  sat  together  discoursing  upon 
the  special  mercies  vouchsafed  to  the  people  ol  the  Lord, 
a  strange  thing  happened.  Nay,  I  do  not  say  that  news 
may  not  have  reached  Taunton  already  of  the  duke's  inten- 
tions and  of  the  position  of  the  king's  forces.  But  this  seems 
incredible,  since  it  was  not  known,  except  to  the  council 
by  whom  it  was  decided,  till  late  in  the  afternoon,  and  il 
was  not  to  be  thought  that  these  would  hurry  to  spread  the 
news  abroad  and  so  ruin  the  whole  affair.  The  window- 
being  open  then,  we  could  hear  the  voices  of  those  who 
talked  in  the  street  below.  Now  there  passed  two  men,  and 
they  were  talking  as  they  went.  Said  one — and  these  were 
the  words  we  heard — 

"I  tell  thee  that  the  duke  will  have  no  more  to  do  than 
to  lock  the  stable  doors  and  so  seize  the  troopers  in  their 
beds." 

We  all  started  and  listened.     The  voice  below  repeated — 

"I  say,  sir,  and  1  have  it  at  first  hand,  that  he  hath  but 
to  lock  the  stable  doors  and  so  seize  all  the  troopers  in  their 
beds." 


J  56  ran  FAIT.V  a::d  FREEDOM. 

Then  they  passed  on  their  way. 

Said  my  mother.  "My  husband  hath  told  me  that  nol 
only  may  the  conscience  be  awakened  by  a  word  which 
seemeth  chance,  but  the  future  may  be  revealed  by  words 
which  were  perhaps  meant  in  another  sense.  What  wc 
have  heard  this  evening-  may  be  a  foretelling  of  victory.  My 
children,  let  us  pray,  and  so  to  bed." 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

THE  DAY  AFTER. 

It  was  five  o'clock  when  I  awoke  next  morning.  Though 
the  hour  was  so  early,  I  heard  a  great  tramping  and  running 
about  the  streets,  and,  looking  out  of  window,  I  saw  a  con- 
course of  the  town's  people  gathered  together  listening  to 
one  who  spoke  to  them.  But  in  the  middle  of  his  speech 
they  broke  away  from  him  and  ran  to  another  speaker,  and 
so  distractedly  and  with  such  gestures  that  they  were  clearly 
much  moved  by  some  news,  the  nature  of  which  I  could 
not  guess.  For  in  some  faces  there  was  visible  the  outward 
show  of  triumph  and  joy,  and  on  others  there  lay  plainly 
visible  the  look  of  amazement  or  stupefaction,  and  in  the 
street  I  saw  some  women  weeping  and  crying.  What  had 
happened }  Oh  !  what  had  happened  .?  Then,  while  I  was 
still  dressing,  there  burst  into  the  room  Susan  Blake,  her- 
self but  half  dressed,  her  hair  flying  all  abroad,  the  comb  in 
her  hand. 

"Rejoice  !  "  she  cried.  "Oh,  rejoice,  and  give  thanks 
unto  the  Lord  !  What  did  we  hear  last  night }  That  the  duke 
had  but  to  shut  the  stable  doors  and  seize  the  troopers  in 
their  beds.  Look  out  of  window — see  the  people  run- 
ning and  listening  eagerly.  Oh  !  'tis  the  crowning  mercy 
that  we  have  looked  for,  the  Lord  hath  blown  and  his 
enemies  are  scattered.  Remember  the  strange  words  we 
heard  last  night.  What  said  the  unknown  man  }  nay,  he 
said  it  twice.  '  The  duke  had  but  to  lock  the  stable  doors  ;  " 
nay,  and  yesterday  I  saw,  and  last  night  I  heard,  the  screech 
owl  thrice,  which  was  meant  for  the  ruin  of  our  enemies. 
Oh,  Grace,  Grace,  this  is  a  joyful  day  !  " 

"  But  look, "  I  said,    "they  have  a  downcast  look;  they 


I'OR  FAITH  AND  FIi£JSDOM, 


157 


run  about  as   if  distracted  ;  and  some  are  wringing   their 
hands." 

" 'Tis  with  excess  of  joy,"  she  replied,  looking  out  of  the 
window  with  me,  though  her  hair  was  flying  in  the  wind. 
"They  are  so  surprised  and  so  rejoiced  that  they  can- 
not speak  or  move." 

"  But  there  are  women  weeping  and  wailing;  why  do 
they  weep  .?  " 

"  It  is  for  those  who  are  killed.  Needs  must  in  every 
great  victory  that  some  are  killed — poor,  brave  fellows  ! — 
and  some  are  wounded.  Nay,  my  dear,  thou  hast  three  at 
least  at  the  camp  who  are  dear  to  thee,  'and  God  knows  I 
have  many.  Let  us  pray  that  we  do  not  have  to  weep  like 
those  poor  women." 

She  was  so  earnest  in  her  looks  and  words,  and  I  myself 
so  willing  to  believe,  that  I  doubted  no  longer. 

"Listen  !  oh,  listen  !"  she  cried,  "never,  never  before 
have  bells  rung  a  music  so  joyful  to  my  heart." 

For  now  the  bells  of  the  great  tower  of  St.  Mary's  began 
to  ring — clash,  clash,  clash,  all  together  as  if  they  were 
cracking  their  throats  with  joy  ;  and  at  the  sound  of  the 
bells  those  men  in  the  street,  who  seemed  to  me  stupefied  as 
by  a  heavy  blow,  put  up  their  hands  to  their  ears  and  fled, 
as  if  they  could  not  bear  the  noise,  and  the  women  who 
wept  wrung  their  hands  and  shrieked  aloud  in  anguish,  as  if 
the  joy  of  the  chimes  mocked  the  sorrow  of  their  hearts. 

"  Poor  creatures  !  "  said  Susan.  "  From  my  heart  I  pity 
them.  But  the  victory  is  ours,  and  now  it  only  remains  to 
offer  up  our  humble  prayers  and  praises  to  the  Throne  of  all 
mercy." 

So  we  knelt  and  thanked  God. 

"O  Lord,  we  thank  and  bless  thee!  O  Lord,  we  thank 
and  bless  thee  !  "  cried  Susan,  the  tears  of  joy  and  gratitude 
running  down  her  cheeks.  Outside,  the  noise  of  hurrying 
feet  and  voices  increased,  and  more  women  shrieked — and 
still  the  joy  bells  clashed  and  clanged. 

"O  Lord,  we  thank  thee!  O  Lord,  we  bless  thee!" 
Susan  repeated  on  her  knees,  her  voice  broken  with  her  joy 
and  triumph.     'Twas  all  that  she  could  say. 

I  declare  that  at  that  moment  I  had  no  more  doubt  of  the 
victory  than  I  had  of  the  sunshine.  There  could  be  no  doubt. 
The  joy  bells  were  ringing  ;  how  should  we  know  that  the 
Rev.  Mr.  Hartc,  the  vicar,  caused  them  to  be  rung,  and  not 
our  friends  ?  There  could  be  no  manner  of  doubt.  The 
people  running  to  and  fro  in  the  street  had  heard  the  news 


158  ^-'OR  FAirll  AND  FIiEEDO.\t. 

and  were  rushing  to  tell  each  other  and  to  hear  more.  The 
women  who  wept  were  mothers  or  wives  of  the  slain ; 
again,  we  had  encouraged  each  other  with  assurances  of  our 
success  so  that  we  were  already  fully  prepared  to  believe 
that  it  had  come.  Had  we  not  seen  a  splendid  army  some 
thousand  strong  march  out  of  Taunton  town,  led  by  the 
bravest  man  and  most  accomplished  soldier  in  the  English 
nation.?  Was  not  the  army  on  the  Lord's  side?  Were  we 
not  in  a  Protestant  country  ?  Were  not  the  very  regiments 
of  the  king  Protestants  .?  Why  go  on  .''  and  yet — oh  I  sad  to 
think  ! — while  we  knelt  and  prayed  the  army  was  scattered 
like  a  cloud  of  summer  gnats  by  a  shower  and  a  breeze,  and 
hundreds  lay  dead  upon  the  field,  and  a  thousand  men  were 
prisoners,  and  many  were  already  hanging  in  gemmaces 
upon  the  gibbets,  where  they  remained  till  King  William's 
coming  suffered  them  to  be  taken  down,  and  the  rest  were 
flying  in  every  direction,  hoping  to  escape. 

"  O  Lord,  we  thank  thee  !     O  Lord,  we  bless  thee  !  " 

While  thus  we  prayed  we  heard  the  door  below  burst  open 
and  a  tramping  of  a  man's  boots,  and  Susan,  hastily  rolling 
up  her  hair,  ran  down-stairs  followed  by  mother  and  myself. 

There  stood  Barnaby.  Thank  God  !  one  of  our  lads  was  safe 
out  of  the  fight.  His  face  and  hands  w^ere  black  wdth  pow- 
der ;  his  red  coat,  which  had  been  so  fine,  was  now  smirched 
with  mud  and  stained  with  I  know  not  what  marks  of 
weather,  of  mud,  and  of  gunpowder  ;  the  right-hand  side  was 
torn  away,  he  had  no  hat  upon  his  head,  and  a  bloody  clout 
was  tied  about  his  forehead. 

"  Barnaby  !  "  I  cried. 

"Captain  Barnaby  !  "  cried  Susan,  clasping  her  hands. 

"  My  son  !  "  cried  mother  ;  oh  !  thou  art  wounded.  Quick, 
Grace,  child  ;  a  basin  of  water,  quick  !  " 

"  Nay,  'tis  but  a  scratch,"  he  said  ;  "  and  there  is  no  time 
for  nursing." 

"When — where — how,"  we  all  cried  together,  "was  the 
victory  won  ?  Is  the  enemy  cut  to  pieces  }  Is  the  war  fin- 
nished  }  " 

"Victory  .?  "  he  repeated,  in  his  slow  way,  "what  victory  ? 
Give  me  a  drink  of  cider,  and  if  there  is  a  morsel  of  victual 
in  the  house — " 

I  hurried  to  bring  him  both  cold  meat  and  bread  and  a  cup 
full  of  cider.      He  began  t^    cat  and  drink. 

"Why,"  he  said,  talking  between  his  mouthfuls,  "if 
the  worst  come,  'tis  hotter  to  face  it  with  a —  Your  health, 
madam;"  he     nish  ;d   the  cider.      "Another  cup,  sister,  H 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  tjj 

you  love  me.  I  have  neither  eaten  nor  drunk  since  yester- 
day at  seven  o'clock,  or  thereabouts."  He  said  no  more  un- 
til he  had  cleared  the  dish  of  the  gammon,  and  left  nothing- 
but  the  bone.  This  he  dropped  into  his  pocket.  "When  the 
provisions  are  out,"  he  said,  wisely,  "there  is  good  gnawing 
in  the  shank  bone  of  a  ham. "  Then  he  drank  up  the  rest  of 
the  cider  and  looked  around.  "Victory.?  Did  some  one 
speak  of  victory  ?  " 

' '  Yes  ;  where  was  it  ?     Tell  us  quick. " 

"Well;  there  was  in  some  sort  a  victory.  But  the  king 
had  it." 

"What  mean  you,  Barnaby .?  the  king  had  it?  What 
king .? " 

"  Not  King  Monmouth.  That  king  is  riding  away  (o  find 
some  port  and  get  some  ship,  I  take  it,  which  will  carry  hiin 
back  to  Holland." 

"Barnaby,   what  is  it.?     Oh!   what  is   it.?     Tell  us  all." 

"All  there  is  to  tell,  sister,  is  that  our  army  is  clean  cut 
to  pieces  and  that  those  of  us  who  are  not  killed  or  prisoners 
are  making  off  with  what  speed  they  may.  As  for  me,  I 
should  have  thrown  away  my  coat  and  picked  up  some  old 
duds  and  got  off  to  Bristol  and  so  aboard  ship  and  away, 
but  for  dad." 

"O  Barnaby  !  "  cried  my  mother,  "  what  hath  happened 
to  him  .?     Where  is  he  ?  " 

"I  said,  mother,"  he  replied,  very  slowly  and  looking  in 
her  face  strangely,  "that  I  would  look  after  him,  didn't  I? 
Well,  when  we  marched  cut  of  Bridgwater  at  nightfall, 
nothing  would  serve  but  he  must  go  too.  I  think  he  com- 
pared himself  with  Moses,  who  stood  afar  off  and  held  up 
his  arms.  Never  was  there  any  man  more  eager  to  get  at 
the  enemy  than  dad.  If  he  had  not  been  a  minister  now, 
what  a  soldier  he  would  have  made  !  " 

"Goon.     Quick,  Barnaby." 

"I  can  go,  sister,  no  quicker  than  I  can.  That  is  quite 
sure. " 

"  Where  is  he,  my  son  ? "  asked  my  mother. 

Barnaby  jerked  his  thumb  over  his  left  shoulder. 

"  He  is  over  there,  and  he  is  safe  enough  for  the  present 
Well,  after  the  battle  was  over,  and  it  was  no  use  going  on 
any  longer,  Monmouth  and  Lord  Grey  having  already  rui» 
*way — " 

"  Run  away  .?     Run  away  .?  " 

"  Run  away,  sister.  Aboard  ship  the  captain  stands  by 
tla«  crew  to  the  last,  and  if  they  strike  he  is  prisoner  with 


lOo  I- OR  FAITJI  AND  FREEDOM. 

them.  Ashore,  the  general  runs  away  and  leaves  his  men  t-o 
find  out  when  they  will  give  over  fighting.  We  fought 
until  there  was  no  more  ammunition,  and  then  we  ran  with 
the  rest  Now  I  had  not  gone  far,  before  I  saw  lying  on 
the  moor  at  my  very  feet  the  poor  old  dad." 

"O!" 

"He  was  quite  pale,  and  I  thought  he  was  dead.  So  I 
was  about  to  leave  him,  when  he  opened  his  eyes.  '  What 
cheer,  dad  }  '  I  asked.  He  said  nothing.  So  I  felt  his  pulse 
and  found  him  breathing.  '  But  what  cheer,  dad  .•* '  I  asked 
him  again.  'Get  up  and  come  with  me.'  He  looked 
around  as  if  he  understood  me  not,  and  he  shut  his  eyes 
again.  Now  when  you  run  away  the  best  thing  is  to  run  as 
fast  and  to  run  as  far  as  you  can.  Yet  I  could  not  run  with 
dad  lying  in  the  road  half  dead.  So  while  I  tried  to  think 
what  to  do,  because  the  murdering  dragoons  were  cutting 
us  down  in  all  directions,  there  came  galloping  past  a  pony 
harnessed  to  a  kind  of  go-cart  where  I  suppose  there  had 
been  a  barrel  or  two  of  cider  for  the  soldiers.  The  creature 
was  mad  with  the  noise  of  the  guns,  and  I  had  much  ado  to 
catch  him  and  hold  the  reins  while  I  lifted  dad  into  the  cart. 
When  I  had  done  that  I  ran  by  the  side  of  the  horse  and 
drove  him  off  the  road  across  the  moor,  which  was  rough 
going — but  for  dear  life  one  must  endure  much — to  North 
Marton,  where  I  struck  the  road  to  Taunton  and  brought 
him  safe,  so  far." 

"Take  me  to  him,  Barnaby, "  said  my  mother.  "Take 
me  to  him." 

' '  Why,  mother, "  he  said,  kindly,  ' '  I  know  not  if  'tis  wise. 
For,  look  you,  if  they  catch  us,  me  they  will  hang  or  shoot, 
though  dad  they  may  let  go  for  he  is  sped  already  ;  and  for 
a  tender  heart  like  thine  'twould  be  a  piteous  sight  to  see  thy 
son  hanging  from  a  branch  with  a  tight  rope  round  his  neck 
and  thy  husband  dead  on  a  hand-cart." 

"  Barnaby,  take  me  to  him — take  me  to  him." 

"O!  Is  it  true.?  Is  it  true.?  O  Captain  Barnaby,  is  it 
really  true.?     Then  why  are  the  bells  a-ringing?" 

Clash  !  clash  !  clash  !  The  bells  rang  out  louder  and 
louder.  One  would  have  thought  the  whole  town  was  re- 
joicing. Yet  there  were  a  thousand  lads  marched  out  of 
Taunton  town,  and  I  know  not  how  many  ever  came  home 
again. 

' '  They  are  ringing, "  said  Barnaby,  ' '  because  King  Mon- 
mouth's army  is  scattered  and  the  rebellion  is  all  over. 
Well,  we  have  had  our  chance  and  we  are  dished.     Now 


rOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  l6l 

must  we  sing  small  again.  Madam,"  he  said,  earnestly, 
addressing-  Susan,  "if  I  remember  right  they  were  your 
hands  that  carried  the  naked  sword  and  the  Bible." 

"They  were  my  hands." 

"And  they  were  your  scholars  who  worked  the  flags  and 
gave  them  to  the  duke  that  day  when  you  walked  in  a  pro- 
cession .''  " 

"They  were  my  scholars,"  she  said,  proudly. 

"  Then,  madam,  seeing  that  we  have,  if  all  reports  be 
true,  a  damned  unforgiving  kind  of  king,  my  advice  to  you 
is  to  follow  my  example,  and  run.  Hoist  ail  sail,  madam, 
and  fly  to  some  port — any  port.  Fly  false  colors.  When 
hanging,  flogging,  branding,  and  the  like  amusements  set 
in,  I  think  they  will  remember  the  maids  of  Taunton. 
That  is  my  advice,  madam." 

"Sir,'  said  Susan,  bravely,  though  her  cheek  grew  pale 
when  he  spoke  of  floggings  and  brandings,  "I  thank  you. 
Whither  should  I  fly  }  Needs  must  I  stay  here  and  beai 
whatever  affliction  the  Lord  may  lay  upon  me  ;  and  since 
our  Protestant  hero  is  defeated,  methinks  it  matters  little 
what  becomes  of  any  of  us." 

"  Why,"  Barnaby  shook  his  head,  "  King  Monmouth  is 
defeated,  that  is  most  true  ;  but  we  who  survive  have  got 
ourselves  to  look  after.  Sister,  get  a  basket  and  put  into  it 
provisions." 

"  What  will  you  have,  Barnaby  ?  " 

"  Everything  that  you  can  carry.  Cold  bacon  for  choice  ,• 
and  bread,  and  a  bottle  of  brandy  if  you  have  any,  and  all 
you  can  lay  hands  upon.  With  your  good  leave,  madam." 
•  "  Oh,  sir,  take  all,  take  all.  I  would  to  God  that  every- 
thing I  have  in  the  world  could  be  used  for  the  succor  of 
these  my  friends."  And  M'ith  that  she  began  to  weep  and 
to  cry. 

I  filled  a  great  basket  with  all  that  there  was  in  the  house, 
and  he  took  it  upon  his  arm.  And  then  we  came  away 
with  many  tears  and  fond  farewells  from  this  kind  soul  who 
had  done  so  much  for  the  cause,  and  was  now  about  to  pay 
so  neavy  a  penalty  for  her  zeal. 

Outside,  in  the  street,  the  people  recognized  him  for  one 
of  Monmouth's  captains,  and  pressed  round  him  and  asked 
him  a  thousand  cjuestions  ;  but  he  answered  shortly. 

"We  were  drubbed,  I  tell  you.  King  Monmouth  hath 
run  away.  We  have  all  run  away.  How  should  I  know 
,how  many  are  killed.''  Every  man  who  doth  not  wish  to 
be  hanged  had  best  run  away  and  hide.     The  j^ame  is  up, 


1 62  FOR  FAITH  A XD  FREEDOM. 

friend,  we  are  sped.  What  more  can  I  say  ?  How  do  1 
know,  in  the  devil's  name,  whose  fault  it  w^s  ?  How  can 
I  tell,  madam,  if  your  son  is  safe  ?  If  he  is  safe  make  him 
creep  into  a  hiding-place. "  And  so  on,  to  a  hundred  who 
crowded  after  him  and  questioned  him  as  to  the  nature  and 
meaning  of  the  defeat.  Seeing  that  no  more  news  could  be 
got  from  him,  the  people  left  off  following  us,  and  we  got 
out  of  the  town  on  the  east  side  where  the  road  leads  tu 
Ilminster,  but  it  is  a  bad  road  and  little  frequented. 

Here  Barnaby  looked  about  him  carefully,  to  make  sure 
that  no  one  was  observing  us  ;  and  then,  finding  that  no  one 
was  within  sight,  he  turned  to  the  right  down  a  grassy  lane 
between  hedges. 

"  'Tis  this  way  that  I  brought  him,''  he  said.  "  Poor  old 
man  !  He  can  now  move  neither  hand  nor  foot,  and  his 
legs  will  no  more  be  any  use  to  him.  Yet  he  seemed  in  no 
pain,  though  the  jolting  of  the  cart  must  have  shaken  him 
more  than  a  bit." 

The  lane  led  into  a  field,  and  that  field  into  another  and 
a  smaller  one,  with  a  plantation  of  larches  on  two  sides  and 
a  brook  shaded  with  alders  on  a  third  side.  In  one  corner 
was  a  linney  with  a  thatched  roof  supported  on  wooden 
pillars  in  front,  and  closed  in  at  back  and  sides.  It  w-as 
such  a  meadow  as  is  used  for  the  pasture  of  cattle  and  the 
keeping  of  a  bull. 

At  the  entrance  of  this  meadow  Barnaby  stopped  and 
looked  about  him  with  approbation. 

"  Here,''  he  said,  slowly,  "  is  a  hiding-place  fit  for  King 
Monmouth  himself.  A  road  unfrequented;  the  rustics  all 
gone  off  to  the  wars,  though  now,  I  doubt  not,  having  had 
their  belly  full  of  fighting.  I  sup]5ose  there  were  once 
cattle  in  the  meadow,  but  they  are  either  driven  away  by 
the  clubmen  for  safety,  or  they  have  been  stolen  by  the 
gypsies.  No  troopers  will  this  day  come  })rying  along  this 
road  ;  or,  if  they  do  search  the  wood,  which  is  unlikely, 
they  will  not  look  in  the  linney  ;  here  can  we  be  snug  until 
we  make  up  our  minds  what  course  is  best." 

"  Barnaby,"  I  said,  "  take  us  to  my  father  without  more 
speech." 

"  I  have  laid  him,"  he  went  on,  "  upon  the  bare  ground 
in  the  linney,  but  it  is  soft  and  dry  lying,  and  the  air  is 
warm,  though  last  night  it  rained  and  w^s  cold.  He  looks 
happy,  mother,  and  I  doubt  if  ho  hath  any  feeling  left  in 
his  limbs.  Once  I  saw  a  man  shot  in  the  backbone  and 
never  moved  afterwards,  but  he  lived  for  a  bit.     Here  he  is. " 


I'^OR  FAI'fll  AjVD  freedom  1(^)3 

Alas  !  lying  motion  less  on  his  back,  his  head  bare,  his 
white  hair  lying  over  his  face,  his  eyes  closed,  his  cheek 
white,  and  no  sign  of  life  hi  him  except  that  his  breast 
gently  heaved,  was  my  father.  Then  certain  words  which 
'ae  uttered  came  back  to  my  memory.  "  What  matters  the 
end,''  he  said,  "if  I  have  freedom  of  speech  for  a  single  day?  " 

]My  mother  threw  herself  on  her  knees  beside  him  and 
raised  his  head. 

"Ah  !  my  heart,"  she  cried,  "my  dear  heart,  my  husband, 
have  they  killed  thee  .?  Speak,  my  clear  ;  speak  if  thou  canst ! 
Art  thou  in  pain  .?  Can  we  do  aught  to  relieve  thee  .''  Oh  ! 
is  this  the  end  of  all .?  " 

But  my  father  made  no  reply.  He  opened  his  eyes,  but 
they  did  not  move  ;  he  looked  straight  before  him,  but  he 
saw  nothing.  Then  he  murmured,  in  a  low  voice,  "  Lord, 
now  let  thy  servant  depart  in  peace.  So  let  all  thine  enemies 
perish,  Lord." 

And  this,  until  the  end,  was  the  burden  of  all  ;  he  spoke 
no  word  to  show  that  he  knew  any  one,  or  that  he  was  in 
pain,  or  that  he  desired  anything.  He  neither  ate  nor  drank, 
yet  for  many  weeks  longer  he  continued  to  live. 


CHAPTER  XXni. 

OUR  FLIGHT. 

Thus  we  began  our  miserable  flight.  Thus,  in  silence,  we 
sat  in  the  shade  of  the  linncy  all  the  morning.  Outside,  the 
blackbird  warbled  in  the  wood,  and  the  lark  sang  in  the  sky. 
But  we  sat  in  silence,  not  daring  so  much  as  to  ask  each 
other  if  those  things  were  real,  or  if  we  were  dreaming  a 
dreadful  dream.  Still  and  motionless  lay  my  father's  body 
as  if  the  body  of  a  dead  man.  He  felt  no  pain,  of  that  I  am 
assured.  It  makes  me  sick  even  to  think  that  he  might 
have  suffered  pain  from  his  wound.  He  had  no  sense  at  all 
of  what  Wcis  going  on,  yet  once  or  twice  during  the  long 
trance  or  paralysis  in  which  he  had  fallen  he  opened  his  lips 
and  spoke  after  his  old  manner  in  the  words  of  the  Bible,  but 
in  a  disjointed  manner,  as  one  who  is  in  a  dream  or  delirium. 
And  he  breathed  gently,  so  that  he  was  not  dead.  Barnaby, 
for  his  part,  threw  himself  upon  his  face,  and  laying  his  head 


164  i'OK  FAITH  AXD  J-KEEDOM. 

Upon  his  arm  fell  asleep  instantly.  The  place  was  ver} 
quiet  ;  at  the  end  of  the  meadow  was  a  brook  and  there  was 
a  wood  upon  the  other  side  ;  we  could  hear  the  prattling  of 
the  water  over  the  pebbles  ;  outside  the  linney  a  great  elm- 
tree  stretched  out  its  branches  ;  presently  I  saw  a  squirrel 
sitting  upon  one  and  peering  curiously  at  us,  not  at  all  afraid, 
so  still  and  motionless  w^e  were.  I  remember  that  I  envied 
the  squirrel.  He  took  no  thought  even  for  his  daily  bread. 
And  the  hedge  sparrows,  no  more  afraid  than  if  the  linney 
was  empty,  hopped  into  the  place  and  began  picking  about 
among  the  straw.  And  so  the  hours  slowly  passed  away, 
and  by  degrees  I  began  to  understand  a  little  better  what 
had  happened  to  us  ;  for  at  the  first  shock  one  could  not  per- 
ceive the  extent  of  the  disaster,  and  we  were  as  in  a  dream 
when  we  followed  Barnaby  out  of  the  town.  The  great  and 
splendid  army  was  destroyed  ;  that  gallant  hero,  the  duke, 
was  in  flight ;  those  of  the  soldiers  who  were  not  killed  or 
taken  prisoners  were  running  hither  and  thither  trying  to  es- 
cape ;  my  father  was  wounded — stricken  to  death  as  it 
seemed,  and  deprived  of  power  to  move,  to  feel,  or  to  think. 
While  I  considered  this,  I  suddenly  remembered  how  he  had 
turned  his  eyes  from  gazing  into  the  sky,  and  asked  me  what 
it  mattered  even  if  the  end  would  be  death  to  him  and  ruin 
unto  all  of  us .''  And  I  do  firmly  believe  that  at  that  moment 
he  had  an  actual  vision  of  the  end,  and  really  saw  before  his 
eyes  the  very  things  that  were  to  come  to  pass,  and  that  he 
knew  all  along  what  the  end  would  be.  Yet  he  had  deliv- 
ered his  soul — why,  then,  he  had  obtained  his  prayer — and 
by  daily  exhortation  had,  doubtless,  done  much  to  keep  up 
the  spirit  of  those  in  the  army  who  wxre  sober  and  godly 
men.  Did  he  also,  like  Sir  Christopher,  have  another  vision 
which  should  console  and  encourage  him  }  Did  he  see  the 
time  to  follow  when  a  greater  than  the  duke  should  come 
and  bring  with  him  the  deliverance  of  the  country  }  There 
are  certain  gracious  words  with  which  that  vision  closes 
which  he  loved  to  read  and  to  expound — the  vision,  I  mean, 
of  the  basket  of  summer  fruit  Did  those  words  ring  in  his 
mind  and  comfort  him  even  in  the  prospect  of  his  own  end  .'' 
Then  my  thoughts,  which  were  swift  and  yet  beyond  his 
control,  left  him  and  considered  the  case  of  Barnaby.  He 
had  been  a  captain  in  the  Green  Regiment  ;  he  would  be 
hanged  for  certain  if  he  were  caught.  ]\Iy  sweetheart,  my 
Robin,  had  also  been  a  captain  in  the  duke's  army.  All  the 
duke's  officers  would  be  hanged  if  they  were  caught.  But 
perhaps  Robin  was  already  dead — dead  on  the  battle-field — • 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  1 65 

hi*  face  white,  his  hands  stiff,  blood  upon  him  somewhere, 
and  a  cruel  wound  upon  his  dear  body.  Oh,  Robin  !  Yet 
I  shed  no  tears.  Humphrey,  too,  who  had  been  one  of  the 
duke's  chirurgeons,  he  would  also  be  surely  hanged  if  he 
were  caught.  Why,  since  all  would  be  hanged,  why  not 
hang  mother  and  me  as  well,  and  so  an  end  .? 

About  noon  Barnaby  began  to  stir  ;  then  he  grunted  and 
went  to  sleep  again  ;  presently  he  moved  once  more  ;  then 
he  rolled  over  on  his  broad  back  and  went  to  sleep  again. 
It  was  not  until  the  sun  was  quite  low  that  he  awoke,  sit- 
ting up  suddenly,  and  looking  about  him  with  quick  sus- 
picion, as  one  who  hath  been  sleeping  in  the  country  of  an 
enemy  or  where  wild  beasts  are  found. 

Then  he  sprang  to  his  feet  and  shook  himself  like  a  do^. 

"Sister,"  he  said,  "thou  shouldst  have  awakened  me 
earlier.  I  have  slept  all  day.  Well,  we  are  safe  so  far." 
Here  he  looked  cautiously  out  of  the  linney  towards  the 
wood  and  the  road. 

"So  far,  I  say,  we  are  safe.  I  take  it  we  had  best  not 
wait  until  to-morrow,  but  budge  to-night.  For  not  only 
will  the  troopers  scour  the  country,  but  they  will  offer  re- 
wards, and  the  gypsies,  aye,  and  even  the  country  folks, 
will  hasten  to  give  information  out  of  their  greedy  hearts. 
We  must  budge  this  very  night. " 

"Whither  shall  we  go,  Barnaby?" 

He  went  on  as  if  he  had  not  heard  my  question. 

"We  shall  certainly  be  safe  for  to-night,  but  for  to-mor- 
row, I  doubt.  Best  not  run  the  chance,  for  to-day  their 
hands  are  full  ;  they  will  be  hanging  the  prisoners.  Some 
they  will  hang  first,  and  try  afterwards  ;  some  they  will  try 
first  and  hang  afterwards.  What  odds  if  they  are  to  be 
hanged  in  the  end }  The  cider  orchards  never  had  such 
fruit  as  they  will  show  this  autumn  if  the  king  prove  re- 
vengeful, as  to  judge  by  his  sour  face  he  will  be."  Here  he 
cursed  the  king,  his  sour  face,  his  works  and  ways,  his 
past,  his  present,  and  his  future  in  round  language  which  I 
hope  his  wounded  father  did  not  hear. 

"  We  must  lie  snug  for  a  month  or  two  somewhere  until 
the  unlucky  Monmouth  men  will  be  suffered  to  return  home 
in  peace.  Ay,  'twill  be  a  month  and  more,  I  take  it,  be- 
fore the  country  will  be  left  quiet.  A  month  and  more. 
And  dad  not  able  to  crawl." 

"  Where  shall  we  be  snug,  Barnaby  .?  " 

"That,  sister,  is  what  I  am  trying  to  find  out — how  to  lie 
snug^  with  a  couple  of  women  and  a  wounded  man  wUq 


1 66  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

cannot  move.  'Twas  madness  of  the  poor  old  dad  to  bring 
thee  to  the  camp,  child.  For  now  we  cannot — any  of  us — - 
part  company,  and  if  we  stay  together  "twill  maybe  bring 
our  necks  to  the  halter." 

"Leave  us,  Barnaby,"  I  said.  "Oh,  leave  us  to  do 
what  we  can  for  the  poor  sufferer,  and  save  thyself" 

"  Ta,  ta,  ta,  sister — knowest  not  what  thou  sayest.  Let 
me  consider.  There  may  be  some  way  of  safety.  As  for 
provisions,  now,  we  have  the  basket  full,  enough  for  two 
days,  say.  What  the  plague  did  dad,  the  poor  old  man, 
want  with  women  when  fighting  was  on  hand.''  When  the 
fighting  is  done,  I  grant  you,  Avomen  with  the  tobacco  and 
punch  are  much  in  place.  There  are  some  pretty  songs, 
now,  that  I  have  heard  about  women  and  drink." 

"  Barnaby,  is  this  a  time  to  be  talking  of  such  things  as 
drink  and  singing  !  " 

"All  times  are  good.  Nevertheless,  all  company  is  not 
fitting,  wherefore,  sister,  I  say  no  more." 

"Barnaby,  knowest  thou  aught  of  Robin?  or  of  Hum- 
phrey .-*  " 

"I  know  nothing.  They  may  be  dead;  they  may  be 
wounded  and  prisoners  ;  much  I  fear,  knowing  the  spirit  of 
the  lads,  that  both  are  killed.  Nay,  I  saw  Humphrey  before 
the  fight,  and  he  spoke  to  me." 

"  What  did  Humphrey  say  .?" 

"I  asked  why  he  hung  his  head  and  looked  so  glum, 
seeing  that  we  were  at  last  going  forth  to  meet  the  king's 
army.  This  I  said  because  I  knew  Humphrey  to  be  a  lad 
of  mettle,  though  his  arm  is  thin  and  his  body  is  crooked. 
'I  go  heavy,  Barnaby,'  said  he,  speaking  low  lest  others 
should  hear,  '  because  I  see  plainly  that  unless  some  signal 
success  come  to  us,  this  our  business  will  end  badly.'  Then 
he  began  to  talk  about  the  thousands  who  were  to  have 
been  raised  all  over  the  country  ;  how  he  himself  had  brought 
to  the  duke  promises  of  support  gathered  all  the  way  from 
London  to  Bradford  Orcas ;  and  how  his  friends  in  Holland 
were  promised  both  men  and  arms,  but  none  of  these  prom- 
ises had  been  kept ;  how  dad  had  brought  promises  of  sup- 
port from  all  the  Nonconformists  of  the  west,  but  hard- 
ly any  save  at  Taunton  had  come  forward  ;  and  how  the 
army  was  melting  away,  and  no  more  recruits  coming  in. 
And  then  he  said  that  he  had  been  the  means  of  bringing  so 
many  to  the  duke,  that  if  they  died  their  death  would  lie 
upon  his  conscience.  And  he  spoke  lovingly  of  Robin  and 
of  thee,  sister.     And  so  we  parted  and  I  saw  him  no  more 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  1 67 

As  for  what  he  said  about  success,  I  minded  it  not  a  straw. 
Many  a  croaker  turns  out  in  the  long-  run  to  be  brave  in  the 
tight.  Doubtless  he  is  dead  ;  and  Robin,  too.  Both  are 
dead  I  take  it,  sister  ;  thou  hast  lost  thy  sweetheart  Cry  a 
little,  my  dear,"  he  added,  kindly.  "It  will  ease  the  pain 
at  thy  heart.      'Tis  natural  for  a  woman  to  cry." 

"  I  cannot  cry,  Barnaby.  I  wish  I  could — the  tears  rise 
•lo  my  eyes,  but  my  throat  is  dry." 

"Try  a  prayer  or  two,  sister.  'Twas  wont  to  comfort  the 
heart  of  my  mother  when  she  was  in  trouble." 

"  A  prayer,  brother  }  I  have  done  nothing  but  pray  since 
this  unfortunate  rebellion  began.  A  prayer  }  Oh,  I  cannot 
pray.  If  I  vi^ere  to  pray  now  it  would  be  as  if  my  words 
were  echoed  back  from  a  wall  of  solid  rock.  We  were 
praying  all  yesterday — we  made  the  Sabbath  into  a  day  of 
prayer  without  ceasing,  and  the  morning,  when  you  opened 
the  door,  we  were  praising  and  thanking  God  for  the  mercy 
of  the  great  victory  bestowed  upon  us.  And  at  that  time 
the  poor  brave  men — " 

"Ay  !  They  were  brave  enough  to  the  end,"  said 
Barnaby. 

"  The  poor  brave  men  lying  cold  and  dead  upon  the  field 
(among  them,  maybe,  Robin),  and  the  prisoners  huddled 
together  somewhere,  and  men  hanging  already  upon  the 
gibbets.  We  were  praising  God,  and  my  father  lying  on 
the  ground  stricken  to  death,  and  thou  a  fugitive,  and  all  of 
us  ruined.  Prayer }  How  could  I  pray  from  such  a  pit  of 
woe  .?  " 

"  Child  " — my  mother  lifted  her  pale  face — "  in  the  darkest 
hour  pray  without  ceasing.  Even  if  there  happen  a  darkei 
hour  than  this,  in  everything  by  prayer  and  supplication 
with  thanksgiving  let  your  requests  be  made  known — with 
thanksgiving,  my  daughter." 

Alas  !  I  could  not  obey  the  apostolic  order.  'Twas  too 
much  for  me.  So  we  fell  into  silence.  When  the  sun  had 
quite  gone  down,  Barnaby  went  forth  cautiously.  Presently 
he  came  back. 

"There  is  no  one  on  the  road,"  he  said  ;  "  we  may  now 
go  on  our  way.  The  air  of  Taunton  is  dangerous  to  us.  It 
breeds  swift  and  fatal  diseases.  I  have  now  resolved  what 
to  do.  I  will  lift  my  father  upon  the  cart  again  and  put  in 
the  pony.  Four  or  five  miles  sou'west  or  thereabouts  is 
Black  Down,  which  is  a  No  Man's  Land.  Thither  will  we 
go  and  hide  in  the  combs,  where  no  one  ever  comes  except 
the  (jypsies, " 


l58  FOR  FAITN  AND  FREEDOM. 

"How  shall  we  live,  Barnaby?  " 

"That,"  he  said,  "we  shall  find  out  when  we  come  to 
look  about  us.  There  is  provision  for  two  days.  The  nights 
are  warm  ;  we  shall  find  cover  or  make  it  with  branches. 
There  is  water  in  the  brooks,  and  dry  wood  to  burn.  There 
we  may,  perhaps,  be  safe.  When  the  country  is  quiet  we 
will  make  our  way  across  the  hills  to  Bradford  Orcas,  where 
no  one  will  molest  you,  and  I  can  go  off  to  Bristol  or  Lyme, 
or  wherever  there  are  ships  to  be  found.  When  sailors  are 
shipwrecked,  sister,  they  do  not  begin  by  asking  what  they 
shall  do  on  dry  land  ;  they  ask  only  to  feel  the  stones  be- 
neath their  feet.  We  must  think  of  nothing  now  but  of  a 
place  of  safety. " 

"  Barnaby,  are  the  open  hills  a  proper  placefor  a  wounded 
man  1 " 

"Why,  child,  for  a  choice  between  the  hills  and  what  else 
may  happen  if  we  stay  here,  give  me  the  hills,  even  for  a- 
wounded  man.  But,  indeed,"'  he  whispered,  so  that  my 
mother  should  not  hear  him,  "he  will  die.  Death  is  written 
on  his  face.  I  know  not  how  long  he  will  live,  but  he 
must  die.  Never  did  any  man  recover  from  such  evil 
plight" 

He  harnessed  the  pony  to  the  cart,  which  was  little  more 
than  a  couple  of  planks  laid  side  by  side,  just  as  he  had 
brought  him  from  Taunton.  My  mother  made  a  kind  of 
pillow  for  him  with  grass  tied  up  in  her  kerchief,  and  so  we 
hoped  that  he  would  not  feel  the  jogging  of  the  cart. 

"The  stream,"  said  Barnaby,  "comes  down  from  the 
hills.     Let  us  follow  its  course,  but  upward." 

It  was  a  broad  stream  with  a  shallow  bed,  for  the  most 
part  flat  and  pebbly,  and  on  either  side  of  the  stream  lay  a 
strip  of  soft  turf  broad  enough  for  the  cart  to  run  upon,  so 
that  as  long  as  that  lasted  we  had  very  easy  going  ;  my 
mother  and  I  walking  one  on  each  side  so  as  to  steady  the 
pillow,  and  keep  the  poor  head  upon  it  from  pain.  But 
whether  we  went  easy  or  whether  we  went  rough,  that  head 
made  no  sign  of  feeling  aught,  and  lay,  just  as  in  the  linney, 
33  if  dead.     Once  it  had  spoken  ;  now  it  was  silent  again. 

I  cannot  tell  how  long  we  went  on  beside  that  stream. 
'Twas  in  a  wild,  uncultivated  country  ;  the  ground  ascended  ; 
the  stream  became  narrower  and  swifter  ;  presently  the 
friendly  strip  of  turf  failed  altogether,  and  then  we  had  trouble 
to  keep  the  cart  from  upsetting.  I  went  to  the  pony's  head, 
and  Barnaby,  going  behind  the  cart,  lifted  it  over  the  rough 
places  and  sometimes  carried  his  end  of  it.     The  ni^ht  wa# 


yok  FAITH  AXD  J'A'EEDOAr.  l6^ 

chilly,  my  feet  were  wet  with  splashing  in  the  brook,  and 
I  was  growing  faint  with  hunger  when  Barnaby  called  a  halt 

"  We  are  now,"  he  said,  "at  the  head  of  the  stream.  In 
half  an  hour  or  thereabouts  it  will  be  break  of  day.  Let  us 
rest.  Mother,  you  must  eat  something.  Come,  sister,  'tis 
late  for  supper  and  full  early  for  breakfast  Take  some  meat 
anil  bread  and  half  a  cup  of  cider." 

1 1  is  all  I  remember  of  that  night 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

THE    CAMP   IN    THE  COMB. 

Our  camping-place,  when  I  awoke  in  the  morning,  I  found 
to  be  near  the  head  of  a  most  beautiful  comb  or  valley 
among  the  Black  Down  Hills.  I  knew  it  not  at  the  time, 
but  it  was  not  far  from  that  old  Roman  castle  which  we  had 
peissed  on  our  way  to  Taunton,  called  Castle  Ratch.  The 
hills  rose  steep  on  either  hand,  their  slopes  hidden  by  trees. 
At  o«r  feet  the  brook  took  its  rise  in  a  green  quagmire. 
The  birds  were  singing,  and  the  sun  was  already  high  and 
the  air  was  warm,  though  there  was  a  fresh  breeze  blowing. 
The  warmth  and  sweetness  filled  my  soul  when  I  awoke, 
and  I  sat  up  with  joy,  until,  suddenly,  I  remembered  why  we 
were  here,  and  who  were  here  with  me.  Then  my  heart 
sank  like  a  lump  of  lead  in  water.  I  looked  around.  My 
father  lay  just  as  he  had  been  lying  all  the  day  before,  motion- 
less, white  of  cheek,  and  as  one  dead,  save  for  the  slight 
motion  of  his  chest  and  the  twitching  of  his  nostril.  As  I 
looked  at  him  in  the  clear  morning  light  it  was  borne  in  up- 
on me  very  strongly  that  he  was  indeed  dead,  inasmuch  as 
his  soul  seemed  to  have  fled  ;  he  saw  nothing,  he  felt  noth- 
ing ;  if  the  flies  crawled  over  his  eyelids  he  made  no  sign  of 
disturbance  ;  yet  he  breathed,  and  from  time  to  time  he  spoke 
but  as  one  that  dreameth.  Beside  him  lay  my  mother  sleep- 
ing, worn  out  by  the  fatigues  of  the  night  Barnaby  had 
laid  his  coat  to  cover  her  so  that  she  should  not  take  cold,  and 
he  had  piled  a  little  heap  of  dead  leaves  to  make  her  a  pillow. 
He  was  lying  at  her  feet,  head  on  arm,  sleeping  heavily 
What  should  be  douc,  I  wondered,   when  next  he  woke  ? 


170 


i^OR  FAITH  AXD  FREEDOM. 


First  I  went  down  the  comb  u  little  way  till  the  stream 
was  deep  enough,  and  there  I  bathed  my  feet,  which  were 
swollen  and  bruised  by  the  long  walk  up  the  comb.  In  the 
midst  of  this  misery  I  can  remember  the  pleasure  of  dabbling 
my  feet  in  the  cool  water,  and  afterwards  of  walking  about 
barefoot  in  the  grass.  (I  disturbed  an  adder  which  was 
sleeping  on  a  flat  stone  in  the  sun,  and  it  lifted  its  venomous 
head  and  hissed,  but  did  not  spring  upon  me.)  Then  I  wash- 
ed my  face  and  hands  and  made  my  hair  as  smooth  as  with- 
out a  comb  it  was  possible.  When  I  had  done  this  I  re- 
membered that  perhaps  my  father  might  be  thirsty,  or  at 
least  able  to  drink,  because  he  seemed  no  more  to  feel  hunger 
or  thirst.  So  I  filled  the  tin  pannikin  (it  M^as  Barnaby's)  with 
water,  and  tried  to  pour  a  little  into  his  mouth.  He  seemed 
to  swallow  it  and  I  gave  him  a  little  more,  until  he  would 
swallow  no  more.  (Observe  that  he  took  no  other  nourish- 
ment than  wine  or  milk  or  a  few  drops  of  broth  until  the 
end. )  So  I  covered  his  face  with  a  handkerchief  to  keep  off 
the  flies,  and  left  him.  Then  I  looked  into  the  basket.  All 
that  there  was  in  it  would  not  be  more  than  enough  for 
Barnaby's  breakfast,  unless  his  appetite  should  fail  him  for 
fear  of  being  captured.  There  was  in  it  a  piece  of  bacon,  a 
large  loaf  of  bread,  a  lump  of  cheese,  and  half  a  bottle  of 
cider — nothing  more.  When  these  provisions  were  done, 
what  next .''  Could  we  venture  into  the  nearest  village  and 
buy  food  ?  Or  to  the  first  farmhouse  1  Then  we  might  fall 
straight  into  the  jaws  of  the  enemy,  who  were  probably 
running  over  the  whole  country  in  search  of  the  fugitives. 
Could  we  buy  without  money  }  Could  we  buy  without 
arousing  suspicions  .?  If  the  people  were  well  inclined  to  the 
Protestant  cause  we  might  trust  them.  But  how  could  we 
tell  that .''  So  in  my  mind  I  turned  over  everything  except  the 
one  thing  which  might  have  proved  our  salvation,  and  that 
you  shall  hear  directly.  Also,  which  was  a  very  strange 
thing,  I  quite  forgot  that  I  had  tied  by  a  string  round  my 
waist  and  well  concealed  Barnaby's  bag  of  gold — two  hun- 
dred and  fifty  pieces.  There  was  money  enough  and  to  spare. 
I  discovered  next  that  our  pony  had  run  away  in  the  night. 
The  cart  was  there,  but  no  pony  to  drag  it.  Well  ;  it  was 
not  much,  but  it  seemed  an  additional  burden  to  bear.  I 
ventured  a  little  way  up  the  valley,  following  a  sheep  track 
which  mounted  higher  and  higher.  I  saw  no  sign  anywhere 
of  man's  presence  ;  it  is  marked  in  woods  by  circles  of  burnl 
cinders,  by  trees  felled,  by  bundles  of  broom  or  fern  tied  up ; 
or  by  shepherds'  huts  1     Here  there  was  nothing  at  all ;  you 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  \']\ 

would  have  said  that  the  place  had  never  been  visited  by  man. 
Presently  I  came  to  a  place  where  the  woods  ceased,  the 
last  of  the  trees  being  much  stunted  and  blown  over  from  the 
west;  and  then  the  top  of  the  hill  began,  not  a. sharp  peak 
or  point,  but  a  great  open  plain  swelling  out  here  and  flat 
there,  with  many  of  the  little  hillocks  which  people  say  are 
ancient  tombs.  And  no  trees  at  all,  but  only  bare  turf,  so 
that  one  could  see  a  great  way  off.  But  there  was  no  sign 
of  man  anywhere  ;  no  smoke  in  the  comb  at  my  feet  ;  no 
shepherd  on  the  hill.  At  this  juncture  of  our  fortunes  any 
stranger  might  be  rai  enemy.  Therefore  I  returned  so  far 
well  pleased. 

Barnaby  was  now  awake,  and  was  inspecting  the  basket 
of  provisions. 

"Sister,"  he  said,  "we  must  go  upon  half  rations  for 
breakfast,  but  I  hope,  unless  my  skill  fails,  to  bring  you 
something  better  for  supper.  The  bread  you  shall  have  and 
mother.  The  bacon  may  keep  till  to-morrow.  The  cider 
you  had  better  keep  against  such  times  as  you  feel  worn 
out  and  want  a  cordial,  though  a  glass  of  Nantz  were  better, 
if  Nantz  grew  in  the  woods."  He  looked  around  as  if  to 
see  whether  a  miracle  would  not  provide  him  with  a  flask 
of  strong  drink,  but  seeing  none,  shook  his  head. 

"As  for  me,"  he  went  on,  "  1  am  a  sailor  and  1  under- 
stand how  to  forage.  Therefore,  yesterday  morning  1  took 
the  liberty  of  dropping  the  shank  of  the  ham  into  my  i)ocket. 
Now  you  shall  see." 

He  produced  this  delicate  morsel,  and  sitting  down  be- 
gan to  gnaw  and  to  bite  into  the  bone  with  his  strong  teeth, 
exactly  like  a  dog.  This  he  continued  with  every  sign  of 
satisfaction  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour  or  so,  when  he  desisteil 
and  replaced  the  bone  in  his  pocket. 

"We  throw  away  the  bones,"  he  said.  "  The  dogs  gnaw 
them  and  devourthem.  Think  youthatit  is  for  their  amuse- 
ment .-*  Notso  ;  but  forthejuices  and  the  nourishment  thatare 
in  and  around  the  bone  ;  for  the  marrow  and  for  the  meat 
that  still  will  stick  in  odd  corners."  He  went  down  to  the 
stream  with  the  pannikin  and  drank  a  cup  or  two  of  water 
to  finish  what  they  call  a  horses  meal,  namely  the  foodtirst 
and  the  water  afterwards. 

"And  now,"  he  said,  "  I  have  breakfasted.  Itis  true  that 
I  am  still  hungry,  but  1  have  eaten  enough  to  carry  me  on 
a  while.  Many  a  poor  lad  cast  away  on  a  desert  shore 
would  find  the  shank  of  a  ham  a  meal  tit  for  a  king — ay — 
and  »  meal  or  two  after  that     1  shall  make  a  dinner  pro«- 


172  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

ently  off  this  bone.  And  I  shall  still  keep  it  against  a  time 
when  there  may  be  no  provision  left." 

"And  now,"  he  said,  looking  around  him,  "let  us  con- 
sider. The  troopers,  I  take  it,  are  riding  along  the  roads. 
Whether  they  will  ride  over  these  hills  I  know  not,  but  1 
think  they  will  not,  because  their  horses  cannot  well  ride  up 
these  combs.  Certainly,  if  they  do,  it  will  not  be  by  the 
way  we  came.  We  are  here,  therefore,  hidden  away  snug. 
Why  should  we  budge?  Nowhere  is  there  a  more  deserted 
part  of  the  country  than  Slack  Down,  on  whose  side  we  are. 
And  I  do  not  think,  further,  that  we  should  find  anywhere 
a  safer  place  to  hide  ourselves  in  than  this  comb,  where,  I 
dare  to  say,  no  one  comes  unless  it  be  the  gypsies  or  the 
broomsquires  all  the  year  round.  And  now  they  are  all 
laden  with  the  spoil  of  the  army ;  for  after  a  battle  this  gen- 
try swoop  down  upon  the  field  like  the  great  birds  which  I 
have  seen  in  India  upon  the  carcasses  of  drowned  beasts, 
and  plunder  the  dead.  Next  they  must  go  into  towns  in  or- 
der to  sell  their  booty ;  then  they  will  be  fain  to  drink  about 
till  all  is  spent;  so  they  will  leave  us  undisturbed.  There- 
fore, we  will  stay  here,  sister.  First  I  will  go  try  the  old 
tricks  by  which  I  did  often  in  the  old^n  time  improve  the 
fare  at  home.  Next  I  will  devise  some  way  of  making  a 
more  comfortable  resting-place.  Thank  the  Lord  for  fine 
weather  so  fax." 

He  was  gone  a  couple  of  hours.  During  that  time  my 
mother  awoke.  Her  mind  was  broken  by  the  suddenness 
of  this  trouble,  and  she  cared  no  more  to  speak,  sitting  still 
by  the  side  of  husband  and  watching  for  any  change  in  him. 
But  I  persuaded  her  to  take  a  little  bread  and  a  cup  of  cider. 

When  Barnaby  came  back  he  brought  with  him  a  black- 
bird, a  thrush,  and  two  wood-pigeons.  He  had  not  for- 
gotten the  tricks  of  his  boyhood,  when  he  would  often  bring 
home  a  rabbit,  a  hare,  or  trout,  which  he  caught  with  a  pin 
or  with  his  hand,  tickling  them.  So  that  my  chief  terror. 
that  we  might  be  forced  to  abandon  our  hiding-place  through 
sheer  hunger,  was  removed.  But  Barnaby  was  full  of  all 
kinds  of  devices. 

He  then  set  to  work  with  his  great  knife,  cutting  down  a 
quantity  of  green  branches,  which  he  laid  out  side  by  side 
with  their  leaves  on,  and  then  bound  them  together,  clever- 
ly interlacing  the  smaller  shoots  and  branches  with  each 
other,  so  that  he  made  a  long  kind  of  hurdle  about  six  feet 
high.  This,  which  by  reason  of  the  leaves  was  :;■  ■  ust  im- 
pervious to  the  wind,  he  disposed  round  the  truui^a  of  three 


POk  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  \  ^^ 

young  trees  growing  near  each  other.  Thus  he  made  a  small 
three-cornered  inclosure.  Again,  he  cut  other  and  thicker 
branches,  and  laid  them  over  and  across  this  hurdle,  and 
cut  turf,  which  he  placed  upon  the  branches,  so  that  here 
was  now  a  hut  with  a  roof  and  walls  complete.  Said  I  not 
that  Barnaby  was  full  of  devices  } 

"There, "  he  said,  when  all  was  ready,  "  is  a  house  for 
you.  It  will  have  to  rain  hard  and  long  before  the  water 
begins  to  drop  through  the  branches  which  make  the  roof 
and  the  slabs  of  turf.  Well,  'tis  a  shelter.  Not  so  comfort- 
able as  the  old  cottage,  perhaps,  but  nearly  as  commodious. 
If  it  is  not  a  palace,  it  will  serve  us  to  keep  off  the  sun  by 
day  and  the  dew  by  night' 

Next  he  gathered  a  great  quantity  of  dry  fern,  dead  leaves, 
and  heather  ;  and  these  he  disposed  within  the  hut  so  that 
they  made  a  thick  and  warm  carpet  or  covering.  Nay,  at 
night  they  even  formed  a  covering  for  the  feet,  and  prevented 
one  from  feeling  cold.  When  all  was  done,  he  lifted  my 
father  gently,  and  laid  him  with  great  tenderness  upon  the 
carpet  within  the  rude  shelter. 

"This  shall  be  a  warmer  night  for  thee  than  the  last, 
dad,  "he  said.  "  There  shall  be  no  jolting  of  thy  poor  bones. 
What,  mother  1  We  can  live  here  till  the  cold  weather 
comes.  The  wind  will  perhaps  blow  a  bit  through  the  leaves 
to-night,  but  not  much,  and  to-morrow  I  will  see  to  that 
Be  easy  in  your  mind  about  the  provisions" — alas  I  my 
poor  mother  was  thinking  of  anything  in  the  world  except 
the  provisions — "  there  are  rabbits  and  birds  in  plenty,  we 
can  eat  them ;  bread  we  must  do  without  when  what  we 
have  is  gone  ;  and  as  for  strong  drink  and  tobacco" — he 
siglied  heavily — "  they  will  come  again  when  better  times 
are  served  out." 

In  these  labors  I  helped  as  much  as  I  was  able,  and  par- 
ticularly in  twisting  the  branches  together,  and  thus  the 
whole  day  passed,  not  tediously,  and  without  any  alarms, 
the  labor  being  cheered  by  the  hopefulness  of  Barnaby's 
honest  face.  No  one,  to  look  at  that  face,  could  believe 
that  he  was  flying  for  his  life,  and  would  be  hanged  if  he 
were  caught  After  sunset  we  lit  a  fire,  but  a  small  one 
only,  and  well  hidden  by  the  woods,  so  that  its  light  might 
not  be  seen  from  below.  Then  Barnaby  dexterously 
plucked  and  trussed  the  birds,  and  roasted  them  in  the 
embers,  so  that,  had  my  heart  been  at  rest,  I  should  have 
had  a  most  delicious  supper.  And  I  confess  that  I  did  be- 
gin to  pluck  up  a  httle  courage,  and  to  hope  that  we  might 


174  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

yet  escape,  and  that  Robin  might  be  living.  After  suppe! 
my  motliier  prayed,  and  I  could  join  with  more  of  resigna- 
tion and  something  of  faith.  Alas  !  in  times  of  trial,  how 
easily  doth  the  Christian  fall  from  faith  !  The  day  before 
prayer  seemed  to  me  a  mockery  ;  it  was  as  if  all  prayer  were 
addrcosed  to  a  deaf  God,  or  to  one  who  will  not  hear  ; 
for  our  prayers  had  all  been  for  safety  and  victory,  and  we 
were  suddenly    answered  with  disaster  and  defeat. 

After  supper  Barnaby  sat  beside  the  embers  and  began  to 
talk  in  a  low  voice. 

"'Twill  be  ..^  sorrowful  barley-mow  song  this  year,"  he 
said;  "a  dozen  brave  lads  from  Bradford  alone  will  be 
dead. " 

"Not  all  dead,  Barnaby.     Oh,  not  all  !  " 

"I  know  not.  Some  are  prisoners,  some  are  dead,  some 
are  running  away."  Then  he  began  to  sinrg,  in  a  low 
voice, 

'"Here's  health  to  the  barley-mow  I' 

"I  remember,  sister,  when  I  would  run  a  mile  to  hear  that 
song,  though  my  father  flogged  me  for  it  in  the  morning. 
'Tis  the  best  song  ever  written."  He  went  on  singing  in  a 
kind  of  whisper, 

"  'We'll  drink  it  out  of  the  nipperkin,  boys.' 

"  Robin  was  a  famous  hand  at  singing  it,  but  Humphrey 
found  the  words  too  rustical.  Humphrey  was  ever  for  fine 
words,  like  Mr.  Boscorel. 

"  'We'll  drink  it  out  of  the  jolly  brown  bowl.' 

"  I  think  I  see  him  now — poor  Robin  !  Well,  he  is  no  more. 
He  used  to  laugh  in  all  our  faces  while  he  sang  it 

"  '  We'll  drink  it  out  o'  tlie  river,  my  boys  ; 

Here's  a  health  to  tlie  barley-mow  ! 

The  river,  tlie  well,  tlie  pipe,  the  hogshead,  the  half-hogshead,  the 
anker,  the  half-anker,  the  gallon,  the  pottle,  the  quart,  the  pint, 
the  half-pint,  ihe  quarter-pint,  tlie  nipperkin,  the  jolly  brown 
bowl,  my  boys. 

Here's  a  health  to  the  barley-mow  !'  " 

He  trolled  out  the  song  in  a  melodious  whisper.  Oh, 
Barnaby,  how  didst  thou  love  good  companionship,  with 
singing  and  drinking  ! 

"  'Twill  be  lonely  for  thee,  sister,  at  Bradford,  when  thou 
dost  return.     Sir  Christopher,  I  take  it.  will  not  long  hold  up 


POR  PAITir  AND  FREEDOM. 


175 


his  head,  and  madam  will  pine  away  for  the  loss  of  Robin, 
and  mother  looks  as  if  she  would  follow  after,  so  white  and 
wan  is  she  to  look  at.  If  she  would  speak  or  complain  or 
cry  it  would  comfort  her,  poor  soul  !  'Twas  a  sad  day  for 
her  when  she  married  the  poor  old  dad.  Poverty  and  hard 
work,  and  now  a  cruel  end  to  her  marriag^e — poor  mother  I  " 

"  Barnaby,  you  tear  my  heart." 

"  Nay,  child,  'tis  better  to  talk  than  to  keep  silence. 
Better  have  your  heart  torn  than  be  choked  with  your  pain. 
Thou  art  like  unto  a  man  who  hath  a  wounded  leg-,  ana  ii 
he  doth  not  consent  to  have  it  cut  off,  though  the  anguish  be 
sharp,  he  will  presently  bleed  to  death.  Say  to  thyself, 
therefore,  plain  and  clear,  '  Robin  is  dead  ;  I  have  lost  my 
sweetheart. ' " 

"  No  1  no  !  Barnaby.  I  cannot  say  those  cruel  words. 
Oh,  I  cannot  say  them.  I  cannot  feel  that  Robin  is  truly 
dead." 

"  Put  the  case  that  he  is  living.  Then  he  is  either  a 
prisoner  or  he  is  in  hiding.  If  a  prisoner,  he  is  as  good  as 
dead,  because  the  duke's  officers  and  the  gentlemen  who 
joined  him  they  will  never  forgive,  that  is  quite  certain.  If 
I  were  a  prisoner  I  should  feel  my  neck  already  tightened. 
If  he  is  not  a  prisoner,  where  is  he  to  hide  .-'  whither  betake 
himself  ?  I  can  get  sailors'  duds,  and  go  abroad  before  the 
mast,  and  ten  to  one  nobody  will  find  me  out  ;  because, 
d'ye  see,  I  can  talk  the  sailors'  language,  and  I  know  their 
manners  and  customs.  But  Robin — what  is  Robin  to  do  } 
Best  say  to  thyself,  'I  have  lost  my  sweetheart.'  So  wilt 
thou  all  the  sooner  recover  thy  cheerfulness." 

"  Barnaby,  you  know  not  what  you  say.  Alas  !  if  my 
Robin  is  dead,  if  my  boy  is  truly  dead,  then  I  ask  for  noth- 
ing more  than  swift  death,  speedy  death,  to  join  him  and 
be  with  him." 

"If  he  escape,  he  will  make  for  Bradford  Orcas,  and 
hide  in  the  Gorton  woods.  That  is  quite  certain.  They 
always  make  for  home.  I  would  that  we  were  in  that  friendly 
place,  so  that  you  could  go  live  in  the  cottage,  and  bring 
provisions,  with  tobacco,  to  us,  unsuspected  and  unseen. 
When  we  have  rested  here  awhile  we  will  push  across  the 
hills,  and  try  to  get  along  by  night  ;  but  it  is  a  weary  way 
to  drag  that  wounded  man.  However — "  he  broke  off,  and 
said,  earnestly,  "Make  up  thy  mind,' child,  to  the  worst. 
"Tis  as  if  a  shipwrecked  man  should  hope  that  enough  ot 
the  ship  would  float  to  carry  him  home  withal.  Make  up 
thy  mind.     We  are  all  ruined  and  lost — all — all — all.     Thy 


1  ^6  FOR  FAITH  AND  FKEFDOAf. 

father  is  dying  ;  thy  lover  is  dead  ;  thou  art  thyself  in  grea\ 
danger  by  reason  or  that  affair  at  Taunton.  Everything  be» 
ing  gone,  turn  round,  therefore,  and  make  thy  self  as  com- 
fortable as  possible.  What  will  happen  we  know  not. 
Therefore  count  every  day  of  safety  for  gain,  and  every 
meal  for  a  respite." 

He  was  silent  for  a  while,  leaving  me  to  think  over  what 
he  had  said.  Here,  indeed,  was  a  philosopher.  Things  being 
all  lost,  and  our  affairs  in  a  desperate  condition,  we  were  to 
turn  round  and  make  ourselves  as  comfortable  as  we  could. 
This,  I  suppose,  is  what  sailors  are  wont  to  do  ;  certainly 
they  are  a  folk  more  exposed  to  misfortune  than  others,  and 
therefore,  perhaps,  more  ready  to  make  the  best  of  what- 
ever happens. 

"  Barnaby,"  I  said,  presently,  "how  can  I  turn  roun<f 
and  make  myself  comfortable  ?" 

"  The  evening  is  still,"  he  said,  without  replying.  "  See, 
there  is  a  bat,  and  there  another.  If  it  were  not  for  the 
trouble  in  there  " — he  pointed  to  the  hut — "  I  should  be  easy 
in  my  mind  and  contented.  I  could  willingly  live  here  a 
twelvemonth.  Why,  compared  with  the  lot  of  the  poor 
devils  who  must  now  be  in  prison,  what  is  ours .-'  They  get 
the  foul  and  stinking  drink,  with  bad  food,  in  the  midst  of 
wounded  men  whose  hurts  are  putrefying,  with  jail  fever, 
and  with  the  whipping-post  or  the  gallows  to  come.  We 
breathe  sweet  air  ;  we  find  sufficient  food.  To-morrow,  if 
I  know  any  of  the  signs,  thou  shalt  taste  a  roasted  hedge- 
hog, dish  fit  for  a  king.  I  found  at  the  bottom  of  the  comb 
a  pot  left  by  some  gypsies.  Thou  shalt  have  boiled  sorrel 
and  mushrooms  to  thy  supper.  If  we  stay  here  long  enough 
there  will  be  nuts  and  blackberries  and  whortleberries. 
Pity,  a  thousand  pities,  there  is  not  a  drop  of  drink.  I  dream 
of  punch  and  hipsy.  Think  upon  what  remains,  even  if 
thou  canst  not  bear  to  think  of  what  is  lost.  Hast  ever  seen 
a  tall  ship  founder  in  the  waves  ?  They  close  over  her  as 
she  sinks,  and  in  an  instant  it  is  as  if  that  tall  ship,  with  all 
her  crew,  had  never  been  in  existence  at  all.  The  army  of 
Monmouth  is  scattered  and  ruined.  Well,  it  is  with  us, 
midst  these  woods,  just  as  if  there  had  been  no  army.  It 
has  been  a  dream,  perhaps.  Who  can  tell  ?  sometimes  all 
the  past  seems  to  me  to  have  been  a  dream.  And  the  future 
is  a  dream.  But  the  present  we  have.  Let  us  be  conten/ 
therewith." 

He  spoke  slowly,  and  with  measured  accents,  as  one  ea 
chanted 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  \  7  7 

"It  is  ten  years  and  more  since  last  I  breathed  the  air  ot 
the  hills.  I  knew  not  that  I  loved  so  much  the  woods  and 
valleys  and  the  streams.  Some  day,  if  I  survive  this  adven- 
ture, I  will  build  me  a  hut  and  live  here,  alone  in  the  woods. 
Why,  if  I  were  alone,  I  should  have  an  easy  heart  If  I 
were  driven  out  of  one  place  I  could  find  another.  I  am  in 
no  hurry  to  get  down  among-  men  and  towns.  Let  us  all 
stay  here  and  be  happy.  But  there  is  dad — who  lives  not, 
yet  is  not  dead.  Sister,  be  thankful  for  thy  safety  in  the 
woods,  and  think  not  too  much  upon  the  dead." 

We  lived  in  this  manner,  the  weather  being  for  the  most 
part  fine  and  warm,  but  with  showers  now  and  then,  for  a 
fortnight  or  thereabouts,  no  one  coming  up  the  comb  and 
there  being  still  no  sign  of  man's  presence  in  the  hills.  Our 
daily  fare  consisted  of  the  wild  birds  snared  by  Bamaby, 
such  creatures  as  rabbits,  hedgehogs,  and  the  like,  which  he 
caught  by  ingenious  ways,  and  trout  from  the  brook,  which 
he  caught  with  a  twisted  pin  very  dexterously  ;  there  were 
also  mushrooms  and  edible  leaves,  such  as  the  nettle,  wild 
sorrel,  and  the  like,  of  which  he  knew  ;  these  we  boiled  and 
ate.  He  also  plucked  the  half-ripe  blackberries  and  boiled 
them  to  make  a  sour  drink  that  would  grip  his  throat,  be- 
cause he  could  not  endure  plain  cold  water.  And  he  made 
out  of  the  bones  of  the  birds  a  kind  of  thin  broth  for  my 
father,  of  which  he  daily  swallowed  a  teaspoonful  or  so. 
So  that  we  fared  well,  if  not  sumptuously.  The  bread,  to 
be  sure,  which  Barnaby  left  for  mother  and  me,  was  com- 
ing to  the  last  crust,  and  I  know  not  how  we  should  have 
got  more  without  venturing  into  the  nearest  village. 

Now  as  I  talked  every  night  with  my  brother  I  found  out 
what  a  brave  and  simple  soul  it  was  ;  always  cheerful  and 
hopeful,  talking  always  as  if  we  were  the  most  fortunate 
people  in  the  world,  instead  of  the  most  miserable,  and  yet, 
by  keeping  the  truth  before  me,  preventing  me  from  getting 
into  another  fool's  paradise  as  to  our  safety  and  Robin's 
escape,  such  as  that  into  which  I  had  fallen  after  the  army 
marched  out  of  Taunton.  I  understand  now  that  he  was 
always  thinking  how  to  smooth  and  soften  things  for  me,  so 
that  I  might  not  go  distracted  with  anxiety  and  grief,  finding 
work  for  me,  talking  to  me  about  other  things — in  short,  the 
most  thoughtful  and  affectionate  brother  in  all  the  world. 
As  for  my  mother,  he  could  do  nothing  to  move  her.  She 
still  sat  beside  her  wounded  husband,  watching  all  day  long- 
for  any  sign  of  consciousness  or  change. 

Seeing  that  Bamaby  was  so  good  and  gentle  a  creature,  I 


1 78  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

could  not  understand  how  it  was  that  in  the  old  time  h« 
used  to  get  a  flogging  most  days  for  some  offence  or  other, 
so  that  I  had  grown  up  to  believe  him  a  very  wicked  boy 
indeed.      I  put  this  question  to  him  one  night. 

He  put  it  aside  for  a  while,  replying  in  his  own  fashion. 

"I  remember  dad, "  he  said,  "before  thou  canst,  sistei 
He  was  always  thin  and  tall,  and  he  always  stooped  as  he 
Wiilked.  But  his  hair,  which  now  is  white,  was  brown  and 
fell  in  curls  which  he  could  not  straighten.  He  was  always 
.mighty  grave  ;  no  one,  I  am  sure,  ever  saw  him  laugh.  I 
have  never  seen  him  so  much  as  smile  except  sometimes 
when  he  dandled  thee  upon  his  knee,  and  thou  wouldst 
amuse  him  with  innocent  prattle.  All  his  life  he  hath  spent 
in  finding  out  the  way  to  heaven.  I  suppose  he  hath  truly 
discovered  a  way,  and  a  mighty  thorny  and  difficult  way  it 
is,  so  that  I  know  not  how  any  can  succeed  in  reaching  that 
port  by  such  navigation.  The  devil  of  it  is,  that  he  believes 
there  is  no  other  way ;  and  he  seemed  never  so  happy  as 
when  he  had  found  another  trap  or  pitfall  to  catch  the  un- 
wary and  send  them  straight  to  hell 

"  For  my  part,"  Barnaby  went  on  slowly,  "  1  could  never 
love  such  a  life.  I>et  others,  if  they  will,  find  out  the  rough 
aitd  craggy  ways  to  heaven.  For  my  part,  I  am  content  to 
go  along  the  plain  and  smooth  high-road  with  the  rest  of 
mankind,  though  it  lands  us  at  a  lower  place  in  heaven. 
Well,  I  dare  say  I  shall  find  mates,  and  we  will  be  as  comfort- 
able as  we  can.  Let  my  father  find  out  what  is  coming  in  the 
other  world  ;  let  me  take  what  comes  in  this.  Some  of  it  is 
sweet  and  some  is  bitter,  some  of  it  makes  us  laugh  and 
sing  and  dance,  and  some  makes  us  curse  and  swear  and 
bellow  out,  as  when  one  is  lashed  to  the  hatches  and  the 
cat  falls  on  his  naked  back.  Sometimes,  sister,  I  think  the 
naked  negroes  of  the  West  Coast  the  happiest  people  in  the 
world.  Do  they  troable  their  heads  about  the  way  to 
heaven .?  Not  they.  What  comes  they  take,  and  they  ask 
no  more.  Has  it  made  dad  the  happier  to  find  out  how 
few  are  those  who  will  sit  b-^side  him  in  heaven  .?  Not  so, 
he  would  have  been  happier  if  he  had  been  a  jolly  plough- 
boy  whistling  to  his  team,  or  a  jolly  sailor  singing  over  his 
pannikin  of  drink  of  a  Saturday  night.  He  tried  to  make 
me  follow  in  his  footsteps  ;  he  Hogged  me  daily  in  the  hope 
of  making  me  take  like  himself  to  the  trade  of  proving  to 
people  out  of  the  Holy  Bible  that  they  are  surely  damned. 
The  more  he  flogged  the  less  1  yearned  after  that  trade,  till 
at  last  I  resolved  that,  come  what  would,  1  woul4  riever 


l''OR  FAIT//  AND  F/^EE/JO.\/. 


179 


thump  a  pulpit  like  him  in  conventicle  or  church.  Then,  if 
you  will  believe  me,  sister,  I  grew  tired  of  flogging-,  which 
when  it  comes  every  day  wearies  a  boy  at  fourteen  or  fifteen 
more  than  you  would  think  ;  and  one  day  while  I  was  danc- 
ing to  the  pipe  and  tabor  with  some  of  the  village  girls,  as 
bad  luck  would  have  it,  dad  came  by.  "  Child  of  Satan  ! '' 
he  cried,  seizing  me  by  the  ear.  Then  to  the  girls,  "Youv 
laughter  shall  be  turned  into  mourning,"  and  so  lugged  me 
home  and  sent  me  supperless  to  bed  with  the  promise  of 
such  a  flogging  in  the  morning  as  should  make  all  previous 
floggings  seem  mere  fleabites  or  joyous  ticklings  in  compar- 
ison. This  decided  me.  So,  in  the  dead  of  night,  I  crept 
softly  down  the  stairs,  cut  myself  a  great  hunch  of  bread- 
and-cheese,  and  so  ran  away  and  went  to  sea." 

"  Barnaby,  was  it  well  done — to  run  away  .''  " 

"Well,  sister,  'tis  done,  and  if  it  was  ill  done,  'tis  now, 
no  doubt,  forgotten.  Now,  remember  I  blame  not  my 
father  ;  before  all  things  he  would  save  my  soul  alive.  That 
was  why  he  flogged  me.  He  knew  but  one  way,  and  along 
that  way  he  would  drive  me.  So  he  flogged  me  the  harder. 
I  blame  him  not.  Yet  had  I  remained  he  would  doubtless 
be  flogging  me  still.  Now,  remember  again,  that  ever  since 
I  understood  anything  I  have  always  been  enraged  to  think 
upon  the  monstrous  oppression  which  silenced  him  and 
brought  us  all  to  poverty,  and  made  my  mother,  a  gentle 
woman  born,  work  her  fingers  to  the  bone,  and  caused  me 
to  choose  between  being  a  beggarly  scholar,  driven  to  teach 
brats  and  endure  flouts  and  poverty,  or  to  put  on  an  apron 
and  learn  a  trade.  Therefore,  when  I  found  that  Monmouth 
was  going  to  hoist  his  flag,  I  came  with  him  in  order  to 
strike  a  blow,  and  I  hoped  a  good  blow  too,  at  the  op- 
pressors. " 

"You  have  struck  that  blow,  Barnaby;  and  where  arc 
we  ? " 

He  laughed. 

"We  are  in  hiding.  Some  of  the  king's  troopers  did  I 
make  to  bite  the  dust.  They  may  hang  me  for  it  if  they 
will  ;  they  will  not  brmg  those  troopers  back  to  life.  Well, 
sister,  I  am  sleepy.     Good-night." 

We  might  have  continued  this  kmd  of  life  I  know  not  how 
much  longer,  certainly  till  the  cold  nights  came.  The 
weather  continued  fine  and  warm  ;  the  hut  kept  off  dews  at 
night ;  we  lay  warm  among  the  heather  and  the  ferns  ;  Bar- 
naby found  a  sufficiency  of  food  ;  my  father  grew  no  worse 
to  outward  seeming,  and  we  seemed  in  safety. 


igo  i'Ok  I-AITJI  Ai\D  2-KEEDOM. 

Then  an  ill  chance  and  my  own  foolishness  marred  all. 

One  day  in  the  afternoon,  Barnaby  being-  away  looking 
after  his  snares  and  gins,  I  heard  lower  down  the  comb 
voices  of  boys  talking.  This  affrighted  me  terribly.  The 
voices  seemed  to  be  drawing  nearer.  Now,  if  the  children 
came  up  as  high  as  our  encampment  they  could  not  fail  to 
s-c  the  signs  of  habitation.  There  was  the  hut  among  the 
trees  and  the  iron  pot  standing  among  the  gray  embers  of 
1  ist  night's  fire.  The  cart  stood  on  one  side.  We  could  not 
possibly  remain  hidden.  If  they  should  come  up  so  far  and 
lind  us  they  would  certainly  carry  the  report  of  us  down  to 
the  village. 

I  considered,  therefore,  what  to  do,  and  then  ran  quickly 
down  the  comb,  keeping  among  the  trees  so  as  not  to  be 
seen. 

After  a  little  I  discovered  a  little  way  off  a  couple  of  boys 
about  nine  years  of  age.  They  were  common  village  boys, 
rosy-faced  and  wholesome  ;  they  carried  a  basket  and  they 
were  slowly  making  their  way  up  the  stream,  stopping  now 
to  throw  a  stone  at  a  squirrel,  and  now  to  dam  the  running 
water,  and  now  looking  to  tind  a  nut  or  lilbert  ripe  enough 
to  be  eaten.  By  the  basket  which  they  carried  1  knew  that 
they  were  come  in  search  of  whortleberries,  for  which  pur- 
pose they  would  have  to  get  quite  to  the  end  of  the  comb 
and  the  top  of  the  hill. 

Therefore  I  stepped  out  of  the  wood  and  asked  them 
whence  they  came  and  whither  they  were  going. 

They  told  me  in  the  broadest  Somersetshire  (the  language 
which  I  love  and  would  willingly  have  written  this  book  in  it, 
but  for  the  unfortunate  people  who  cannot  understand  it) 
that  they  were  sent  by  their  parents  to  get  whortleberries,  and 
that  they  came  from  the  little  village  of  Corfe,  two  miles 
down  the  valley.  This  was  all  they  had  to  say,  and  they 
stared  at  me  as  shyly  as  if  they  had  never  before  encountered  a 
stranger.  I  clearly  perceive  now  that  I  ought  to  have  en- 
gaged them  in  conversation  and  drawn  them  gently  down 
the  valley  in  the  direction  of  their  village  until  we  reached 
the  first  appearance  of  a  road,  when  I  could  have  bidden 
them  farewell  or  sent  them  up  the  hill  by  another  comb. 
But  I  was  so  anxious  that  they  should  not  come  up  any 
higher  that  I  committed  a  great  mistake  and  warned  them 
against  going  on. 

"  Boys,'  I  said,  "beware  !  If  you  go  higher  up  the  comb 
you  will  certainly  meet  wild  men  who  always  rob  and  beat 
boys  " — here  they  trembled,  though  they  had  not  a  penny  in 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  l8i 

the  world.  "Ay,  boys,  and  sometimes  have  been  known 
to  murder  them.  Turn  back — turn  back — and  come  no 
further. " 

The  boys  were  very  much  frightened,  partly  at  the  appari- 
tion of  a  stranger  where  they  expected  to  find  no  one,  and 
partly  at  the  news  of  wild  and  murderous  men  in  a  place 
where  they  had  never  met  with  any  one  at  all,  unless  it 
might  have  been  a  gypsy  camp.  After  gazing  at  me  stupidly 
for  a  little  while  they  turned  and  ran  away  as  fast  as  their 
legs  could  carry  them,  down  the  comb. 

I  watched  them  running,  and  when  they  were  out  of  sight 
I  went  back  again,  still  disquieted,  because  they  might  re- 
turn. 

When  I  told  Barnaby  in  the  evening,  he,  too,  was  uneasy. 
For,  he  said,  the  boys  would  spread  abroad  the  report  that 
that  there  were  people  in  the  valley.  What  people  could 
they  be  but  fugitives  .-' 

"Sister,"  he  said,  "to-morrow  morning  must  we  change 
our  quarters.  On  the  other  side  of  the  hills  looking  south  oi 
to  the  east  in  Neroche  Forest  we  may  make  another  camp 
and  be  still  more  secluded.  For  to-night  I  think  we  are  in 
safety. " 

What  happened  was  exactly  as  Barnaby  thought.  For  the 
lads  ran  home  and  told  everybody  that  up  in  the  comb  there 
were  wild  men  who  robbed  and  murdered  people ;  that  a 
lady  had  come  out  of  the  wood  and  warned  them  to  go  no 
further  lest  they  should  be  robbed  and  murdered.  They 
were  certain  it  was  a  lady  and  not  a  country  woman,  nor 
was  it  a  witch,  nor  a  fairy  or  elf,  of  whom  there  are  many 
on  Black  Down.      No,  it  was  a  young  lady. 

This  strange  circumstance  naturally  set  the  villagers  a 
talking  ;  they  talked  about  it  at  the  inn  whither  they  nightly 
repaired. 

In  ordinary  times  they  might  have  talked  about  it  to  their 
heart's  content  and  no  harm  done,  but  in  these  times  talk  was 
dangerous.  In  every  little  village  there  are  one  or  two 
whose  wits  are  sharper  than  the  rest,  and  therefore  they  do 
instigate  whatever  mischief  is  done  in  that  village.  At  Corfe 
the  cobbler  it  was  who  did  the  mischief.  For  he  sat  thinking 
while  the  others  talked,  and  he  presently  began  to  understand 
that  there  was  more  in  this  than  his  fellows  imagined.  He 
knew  the  hills  ;  there  were  no  wild  men  upon  them  whc 
would  rob  and  murder  two  simple  village  boys  ;  gypsief 
there  were,  and  broom-squires  sometimes,  and  hedge-tearers, 
but  murderers  of  boys,  none.     And  who  was  the  young  lady." 


1 82  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

Then  he  guessed  the  whole  truth.  There  were  people  lying 
hidden  in  the  comb  ;  if  people  hidden,  they  were  Mon- 
mouths  rebels.  A  reward  would  be  given  for  their  capture. 
Fired  with  this  thought,  he  grasped  his  cudgel  and  walked 
off  to  the  village  of  Orchard  Portman  where,  as  he  had  heard, 
there  was  a  company  of  grenadiers  sent  out  to  scour  the 
country.  He  laid  his  information  and  received  the  promise 
of  reward.  He  got  that  reward  in  short,  but  nothing  pros- 
pered with  him  afterwards.  His  neighbors,  who  were  all 
for  Monmouth,  learned  what  he  had  done  and  shunned  him  ; 
he  grew  moody,  he  fell  into  poverty,  who  had  been  a  thriv- 
ing tradesmen,  and  he  died  in  a  ditch.  The  judgments  of 
the  Lord  are  sometimes  swift  and  sometimes  slow,  yet  they 
are  always  sure.  Who  can  forget  the  dreadful  end  of  Tom 
Boilman,  as  he  was  called,  the  only  wretch  who  could  be 
found  to  cut  up  the  limbs  of  the  hanged  men  and  dip  them 
in  the  caldrons  of  pitch.?  For  he  was  struck  dead  by  light- 
ning— an  awful  instance  of  the  wrath  of  God. 

Early  next  morning,  about  five  of  the  clock,  I  sat  before 
the  hut  in  the  shade.  Barnaby  was  up  and  had  gone  to  look 
at  his  snares.  Suddenly  I  heard  steps  below,  and  the  sound 
as  of  weapons  clashing  against  each  other.  Then  a  man 
came  into  sight — a  fellow  he  was  with  a  leathern  apron, 
who  stood  gazing  about  him.  There  was  no  time  for  me  to 
hide,  because  he  immediately  saw  me  arid  shouted  to  them 
behind  him  to  come  on  quickly.  Then  a  dozen  soldiers,  all 
armed,  ran  out  of  the  wood  and  made  for  the  hut. 

"  Gentlemen,"  I  cried,  running  to  meet  them.  "Whom 
seek  you .'' " 

"Who  are  you  }  "  asked  one  who  seemed  to  be  a  sergeant 
over  them.      "  Why  are  you  hiding  ?  " 

Then  a  thought  struck  me.  I  know  not  if  I  were  wise  or 
foolish. 

"  Sir,"  I  replied.  "  My  father  it  is  true  was  with  the  Duke 
of  Monmouth,  but  he  was  wounded  and  now  lies  dead  in 
this  hut.     You  will  suffer  us  to  bury  our  dead  in  peace." 

' '  Dead,  is  he  }     That  will  we  soon  see. " 

So  saying,  he  entered  the  hut  and  looked  at  the  prostrate 
form.  He  lifted  one  hand  and  let  it  drop.  It  fell  like  the 
hand  of  one  who  is  recently  dead.  He  bent  over  the  body 
And  laid  his  hand  upon  the  forehead.  It  was  cold  as  death. 
The  lips  were  pale  as  wax  and  the  cheeks  were  white.  He 
opened  an  eye  ;  there  was  no  expression  or  light  in  it. 

"  Humph  !  "  he  said,  -'He  §eems  dead,  How  did  he 
come  here  ? " 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  183 

''My  mother  and  I  drove  him  here  for  safety  in  yonder 
cart.     The  pony  hath  run  away. " 

"That  may  be  so.  That  may  be  so.  He  is  dressed  in  a 
cassock.      What  is  his  name.?  " 

"  He  was  Dr.  Comfort  Eykin,  an  ejected  minister  and 
preacher  in  the  duke's  army." 

"A  prize  if  he  had  been  alive."  Then  a  sudden  suspicion 
seized  him.  He  had  in  his  hand  a  drawn  sword.  He  pointed 
it  at  the  breast  of  the  dead  man.  "  If  he  be  truly  dead,"  he 
said,  "another  wound  will  do  him  no  harm.  Wherefore" 
— he  made  as  if  he  would  drive  the  sword  through  my  father's 
breast,  and  my  mother  shrieked  and  threw  herself  across  the 
body. 

"So,"  he  said,  with  a  horrid  grin,  "  I  find  that  he  is  not 
dead,  but  only  wounded.  IMy  lads,  here  is  one  of  Mon- 
mouth's preachers.      But  he  is  sore  wounded." 

"  Oh  !  "  I  cried.  "  For  the  love  of  God  suffer  him  to  die 
in  peace." 

"Ay,  ay,  he  shall  die  in  peace,  I  promise  you  so  much. 
Meanwhile,  madam,  we  will  take  better  care  of  him  in  II- 
minster  Jail  than  you  can  do  here.  The  air  is  raw  upon 
these  hills. "  The  fellow  had  a  glib  tongue  and  a  mocking 
manner.  "  You  have  none  of  the  comforts  which  a  wounded 
man  requires.  They  are  all  to  be  found  in  Ilminster  prison, 
whither  we  shall  carry  him.  There  will  he  have  nothing  to 
think  about,  with  everything  found  for  him.  Madam,  your 
father  will  be  well  bestowed  with  us." 

At  that  moment  I  heard  the  footsteps  of  Barnaby  crunch- 
ing among  the  brushwood. 

' '  Fly,  Barnaby,  fly, "  I  shrieked.    ' '  The  enemy  is  upon  us. " 

He  did  not  fly.  He  came  running.  He  rushed  upon  the 
soldiers  and  hurled  this  man  oneway  and  that  man  another, 
swinging  his  long  arms  like  a  pair  of  cudgels.  Had  he  had 
a  cudgel  I  believe  he  would  have  sent  them  all  flying.  But 
he  had  nothing  except  his  arms  and  his  fists.  And  in  a 
minute  or  two  the  soldiers  had  surrounded  him,  each  with 
a  bayonet  pointed,  and  such  a  look  in  every  man's  eye  as 
meant  murder  had  Barnaby  moved. 

"Surrender,"  said  the  sergeant. 

Ikirnaby  looked  around  leisurely. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "I  suppose  I  must.  As  for  roy  name, 
it  is  Barnaby  Eykin,  and  for  my  rank,  captain  in  the  Green 
Regiment  of  the  duke's  valiant  army." 

"Stop,"  said  the  sergeant,  drawing  a  paper  from  hi:i 
pocket 


X  84  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

"  Captain  Eykin,"  he  began  to  read,  "  has  been  a  sailor. 
Rolls  in  his  walk.  Height  about  five  foot  five.  Very  broad 
in  the  shoulders.      Long  in  the  arms,  of  great  strength." 

"That  is  so,"  said  Barnaby,  complacently. 

"  Bandy  legs." 

"Brother,"  said  Barnaby,  "is  that  so  writ?" 

"It  is  so,  captain." 

"I  did  not  think,"  said  Barnaby,  "that  the  malignity  of 
the  enemy  would  be  carried  so  far.  Bandy  legs  !  Yet  you 
see — ^Well,  fall  in,  sergeant.  We  are  your  prisoners.  Bandy 
legs !  " 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

JUDGE    JEFFREYS. 

How  can  I  tell — oh,  how  can  I  sit  down  to  tell  in  cold 
blood  the  story  of  all  that  followed  !  Some  parts  of  it  for 
very  pity  I  must  pass  oven  All  that  has  been  told  or  writ- 
ten of  the  Bloody  Assize  is  most  true,  and  yet  not  half  that 
happened  can  be  told.  There  are  things,  I  mean,  which 
the  historian  cannot  for  the  sake  of  pity,  decency,  and  con- 
sideration for  living  people  relate,  even  if  he  hath  seen  them. 
You  who  read  the  printed  page  may  learn  how  in  one  place 
so  many  were  hanged  ;  in  another  place  so  many  ;  how 
some  were  hanged  in  gemmaces,  so  that  at  every  cross- 
road there  was  a  frightful  gibbet  with  a  dead  man  on  it  ; 
how  some  died  of  small-pox  in  the  crowded  prisons,  and 
some  of  fever;  and  how  Judge  Jeffreys  rode  from  town  to 
town  followed  by  gangs  of  miserable  prisoners  driven  after 
him  to  stand  their  trial  in  towns  where  they  would  be 
known  ;  how  the  wretched  sufferers  were  drawn  and  quar- 
tered, and  their  limbs  seethed  in  pitch  and  stuck  up  over  the 
whole  country  ;  how  the  women  and  boys  of  tender  years 
were  flogged  through  market  towns — you,  I  say,  who  read 
these  things  on  the  cold  page  presently  (even  if  you  be  a 
stickler  for  the  right  divine  and  hold  rebellion  as  a  mortal 
sin)  feel  your  blood  to  boil  with  righteous  wrath.  The  hand 
of  the  Lord  was  afterwards  heavy  upon  those  who  ordered 
these  things  ;  nay,  at  the  very  time  (this  is  a  most  remark- 
able judgment)  when  this  inhuman  judge  was  thundering 


POR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOAt.  I §5 

at  his  victims,  so  that  some  went  mad  and  even  dropped 
down  dead  with  fear,  he  was  himself,  as  Humphrey  hath 
told  me,  suffering  the  most  horrible  pain  from  a  dire  dis- 
ease, so  that  the  terrors  of  his  voice  and  of  his  fiery  eyes  were 
partly  due  to  the  agony  of  his  disease,  and  he  was  enduring 
all  through  that  assize,  in  his  own  body  pangs  greater  than 
any  that  he  ordered.  As  for  his  miserable  end  and  the  fate 
that  overtook  his  master,  that  we  know,  and  candid  souls 
cannot  but  confess  that  here  were  truly  judgments  of  God 
visible  for  all  to  see  and  acknowledge.  But  no  pen  can 
truly  depict  what  the  eye  saw  and  the  ear  heard  during  that 
terrible  time.  And,  think  you,  if  it  was  a  terrible  and  a 
wretched  time  for  those  who  had  no  relations  among  the 
rebels,  and  only  looked  on  and  saw  these  bloody  executions, 
and  heard  the  lamentations  of  the  poor  women  who  lost 
their  lovers  or  their  husbands,  what  must  it  have  been  for 
me  and  those  like  me,  whose  friends  and  all  whom  they 
loved — yea,  all — all  were  overwhelmed  in  one  common 
ruin  and  expected  nothing  but  death  } 

Our  own  misery  I  cannot  truly  set  forth.  Sometimes  the 
memory  of  it  comes  back  to  me,  and  it  is  as  if  long  after- 
wards one  should  feel  again  the  sharpness  of  the  surgeon's 
knife.  Oh,  since  I  must  write  down  what  happened,  let  me 
be  brief.  And  you  who  read  it,  if  you  find  the  words  cold 
where  you  would  have  looked  for  fire — if  you  find  no  tears 
where  there  should  have  been  weeping  and  wailing — re- 
member that  in  the  mere  writing  have  been  shed  again  (but 
these  you  cannot  see)  tears  which  belonged  to  that  time, 
and  in  the  writing  have  been  renewed,  but  these  you  can- 
not hear,  the  sobbings  and  wailings  and  terrors  of  ttiat 
dreadful  autumn. 

The  soldiers  belonged  to  a  company  of  grenadiers  of  Tre- 
lawny's  Regiment,  stationed  at  llminster,  whither  they  car- 
ried the  prisoners.  First  ihey  handcuffed  Earnaby,  but  on 
his  giving  his  parol  not  to  escape  they  let  him  go  free,  and 
he  proved  useful  in  the  handling  of  the  cart  on  which  my 
imhappy  father  lay.  And  though  the  soldier's  talk  was 
ribald,  their  jests  unseemly,  and  their  cursing  and  swearing 
seemed  verily  to  invite  the  wrath  of  God,  yet  they  proved 
honest  fellows  in  the  main.  They  offered  no  rudeness 
to  us,  nor  did  they  object  to  our  going  with  the  prisoners; 
nay,  they  even  gave  us  bread  and  meat  and  cider  from  their 
own  provisions  when  they  halted  for  dinner  at  noon.  Bar- 
naby  walked  sometimes  with  the  soldiers  and  sometimes 
with  us;  with  them  he  talked  freely,  and  as  if  he  were  their 


1 86  /'OA'  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

comrade  and  not  their  prisoner  ;  for  us  he  put  in  a  word  of 
encouragement  or  consolation  such  as,  "Mother,  we  shall 
find  a  way  out  of  this  coil  yet,"  or  "  Sister,  we  shall  cheat 
Tom  Hangman.  Look  not  so  gloomy  upon  it ;  "  or  again, 
he  reminded  us  that  many  a  shipwrecked  sailor  gets  safe 
ashore,  and  that  where  there  are  so  many  they  cannot  hang 
all — would  the  king,  he  asked,  hang  up  the  whole  county 
of  Somerset  ?  But  he  had  already  told  me  too  much.  In 
his  heart  I  knew  he  had  small  hope  of  escape.  Yet  he  pre- 
served his  cheerfulness  and  walked  towards  his  prison  (to 
outward  seeming)  as  insensible  of  fear  and  with  as  uncon- 
cerned- a  countenance  as  if  he  were  going  to  a  banquet  or 
a  wedding.  This  cheerfulness  of  his  was  due  to  a  happy 
confidence  in  the  ordering  of  things,  rather  than  to  insensi- 
bility.  A  sailor  sees  men  die  in  many  ways,  yet  himself  re> 
mains  alive.  This  gives  him  something  of  the  disposition 
of  the  Orientalist,  who  accepts  his  fate  with  outward  uncon- 
cern whatever  it  may  be.  Perhaps  (I  know  not)  there  may 
have  been  in  his  mind  that  religious  assurance  of  which  he 
told  me.  Did  Barnaby  at  this  period,  when  death  was  very 
near  unto  him,  really  believe  that  there  was  one  religion  for 
landsmen  and  another  for  sailors.-*  One  way  to  heaven  for 
ministers,  another  for  seamen.?  Indeed  I  cannot  tell  ;  yet 
how  otherwise  account  for  his  courage  and  cheerfulness  at 
all  times,  even  in  the  very  presence  of  death } 

"Brother,"  he  asked  the  sergeant,  "  we  have  been  lying 
hid  for  a  fortnight  and  have  heard  no  news.  Tell  me,  how 
go  the  hangings }  " 

"  Why,  captain,"  the  fellow  replied,  with  a  grin,  "  in  this 
respect  there  is  little  for  the  rebels  to  complain  of  They 
ought  to  be  satisfied,  so  far,  with  the  attentions  paid  to  them. 
Lord  Feversham  hanged  twenty  odd  to  begin  with.  Captain 
Adlaw  and  three  others  are  trussed  up  in  chains  for  their 
greater  honor  ;  and,  in  order  to  put  the  rest  in  good  heart, 
one  of  them  ran  a  race  with  a  horse,  being  promised  his 
life  if  he  should  win.  When  he  had  beaten  the  horse,  his 
lordship,  who  was  ever  a  merry  man,  ordered  him  to  be 
hanged  just  to  laugh  at  him.     And  hanged  he  was." 

"Ay,"  said  Barnaby,  "thus  do  the  Indians  in  America 
torture  their  prisoners  first  and  kill  them  afterwards." 

"There  are  two  hundred  prisoners  lying  in  Weston  Zoy- 
land  church,"  the  sergeant  went  on  ;  "they  would  been 
hanged  too,  but  the  bishop  interfered.  Now  they  are  wait- 
ing to  be  tried.  Lord  !  what  signifies  trial,  except  to  give 
them  longer  rope  ?  " 


FOK  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  i%>j 

"  Aj,  ay  :  and  how  go  things  in  Bridgwater  and  Taun- 
ton ? " 

"  From  Weston  to  Bridgwater  there  is  a  line  of  gibbets 
already  ;  in  Taunton  twenty,  I  believe,  have  swung — twenty, 
at  least.  The  drums  beat,  the  fifes  played,  and  the  trum- 
pets sounded,  and  Color.?!  Kirke  drank  to  the  health  of  every 
man  (such  was  his  condescension)  before  he  was  turned 
off.  'Twould  have  done  your  heart  good,  captain,  only  tc 
see  the  bravo  show."' 

"  Ay,  ay, "  said  Barnaby  ;  "  very  like,  very  like.  Perhaps 
I  shall  have  the  opportunity  of  playing  first  part  in  another 
brave  show  if  all  goes  well.      Plath  the  duke  escaped.?  " 

' '  We  heard  yesterday  that  he  is  taken  somewhere  near 
the  New  Forest.  So  that  he  will  before  long  lay  his  lovely 
head  upon  the  block.  Captain,  your  friends  have  brought 
their  pigs  to  a  pretty  market." 

"  The"y  have,  brother,  they  have,"  replied  Barnaby,  with 
unmoved  countenance.  "Yet  many  a  man  hath  recoA'^ered 
from  worse  straits  than  these." 

I  listened  with  sinking  heart.  Much  I  longed  to  ask  if 
the  sergeant  knew  aught  of  Robin,  but  I  refrained  least 
merely  to  name  him  might  put  the  soldiers  on  the  lookout 
for  him,  should  he  (happily)  be  in  hiding. 

Next  the  serj^  -nnt  told  us  (which  terrified  me  greatly)  tha\ 
there  was  no  part  of  the  country  where  they  v/ere  not 
scouring  for  fugitives  ;  that  they  were  greatly  assisted  by 
the  clergy,  who,  ha  cald,  were  red-hot  for  King  James  ;  that 
the  men  were  found  hiding  (as  wc  had  hidden)  in  linncys, 
in  hedges,  in  barns,  i  i  \/oods  ;  that  they  were  captured  by 
treachery,  by  information  laid,  and  even,  most  cruel  thing 
of  all,  by  watching  and  following  the  men's  sweethearts 
who  were  found  taking  food  to  them.  He  said,  also,  that 
at  the  present  rate  they  would  have  to  enlarge  their  prisons 
to  admit  ten  times  their  number,  for  they  were  haling  into 
them  not  only  the  men  who  had  followed  Monmouth,  but 
also  those  who  had  helped  him  with  money,  arms  or  men. 
The  sergeant  was  a  brutal  fellow,  yet  there  was  about 
him  something  of  good-nature,  and  even  of  compas- 
sion, for  the  men  he  had  captured.  Yet  he  seemed  to  take 
delight  in  speaking  of  the  sufferings  of  the  unfortunate  pris- 
oners. The  soldiers,  he  told  us,  were  greatly  enraged 
towards  the  rebels  ;  not,  I  suppose,  on  account  of  their  re- 
bellion, because  three  years  later  they  themselves  showed 
how  skin-deep  was  their  loyalty,  but  because  the  rustics, 
whom  they  thought  contemptible,  had  surprisi,'d  and  nearly 


iSg  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

beaten  them.     And  this  roused  in  them  the  spirit  of  revenge. 

"  Captain,"  said  the  sergeant,  "'tis  pity  that  so  lusty  a 
gentleman  as  thou  shouldst  die.  Hast  thou  no  friends  at 
court  ?  No  ?  Nor  any  who  would  spealc  fc^r  thee  ?  'Tis 
pity.  Yet  a  man  can  die  but  once.  With  ouch  a  neck  as 
thine,  bespeak,  if  so  much  grace  be  accorded  thee,  a  long 
rope  and  a  high  gallovv^s.  'Ti:.  when  it  comes  to  the  quar- 
tering " — he  stopped  and  shook  his  head — "  but  there — I 
wish  you  wel'.  out  of  it,  captar\" 

In  the  evening,  just  before  sunset,  we  arrived  at  Ilminster, 
after  a  sad  and  "\/eary  march  of  ten  miles  at  least — but  we 
could  not  leave  the  prisonero  until  we  knew  hov.'  and  where 
they  were  bestowed  ;  and  during  all  this  time  my  mother, 
who  commonly  walked  not  abroad  from  one  Sabbath  to  the 
next,  was  possessed  with  such  a  spirit  that  she  seemed  to 
feel  no  weariness.  When  we  rode  all  night  in  order  to  join 
the  duke  she  complained  not  ;  when  we  rode  painfully 
across  the  country  to  Taunton  she  murmured  not,  nor  when 
we  carried  our  wounded  man  up  the  rough  and  steep  comb  ; 
no,  nor  on  this  day  when  she  walked  beside  her  husband's 
head,  careful  lest  the  motion  of  the  cart  should  cause  him 
pain.  But  he  felt  nothing,  poor  soul !  He  would  feel  noth- 
ing any  more. 

Ilminster  is  a  goodly  town,  rich  and  prosperous  with  its 
spinners  and  weavers  ;  this  evening,  however,  there  was 
no  one  in  the  streets  except  the  troopers,  who  swaggered  up 
and  down  or  sat  drinking  at  the  tavern  door.  There  is  a 
broad,  open  place  before  the  market,  which  stands  upon 
great  stone  pillars.  Outside  the  market  is  the  clink,  or 
prison,  whither  the  soldiers  were  taking  their  prisoners. 
The  troopers  paid  not  the  least  heed  to  our  mournful  little 
procession  :  a  wounded  man  ;  a  prisoner  in  scarlet  and  lace, 
but  the  cloth  tattered  and  stained  and  the  lace  torn  ;  there 
were  only  two  more  men  on  their  way  to  death — what  doth 
a  soldier  care  for  the  sight  of  a  man  about  to  die  ! 

"  Mother,"  said  Barnaby,  when  we  drew  near  the  prison 
doors,  "  come  not  within  the  prison.  I  will  do  all  that  I 
can  for  him.  Go  now^  and  find  a  decent  lodging  ;  and,  sister, 
mark  ye,  the  lads  in  our  army  were  rough,  but  they  were 
as  lambs  compared  with  these  swaggering  troopers.  Keep 
snug,  therefore,  and  venture  not  far  abroad." 

I  whispered  ia  his  ear  that  I  had  his  bag  of  money  safe, 
so  that  he  could  have  whatever  he  wanted  if  that  could  be 
bought.  Then  the  prison  doors  were  closed  and  we  stood 
\vithout. 


Jf^OJ^  FAlTir  AXD  FREEDOM.  1 89 

It  would  have  been  hard,  indeed,  for  the  wife  and  daugh- 
ter of  Dr.  Comfort  Eykin  not  to  find  a  lodging  among  godly 
people,  of  whom  there  are  always  many  in  every  town  of 
Somerset.  We  presently  obtained  a  room  in  the  house  of 
one  Martha  Prior,  widow  of  the  learned  and  pious  Joshua 
Prior,  whilom  preacher  and  ejected  minister.  Her  case 
was  as  hard  as  our  own.  This  poor  woman  had  two  sons 
only,  and  both  had  gone  to  join  the  duke  ;  one  already 
risen  to  be  a  serge-maker  and  one  a  draper  of  the  town. 
Of  her  sons  she  could  hear  no  news  at  all,  whether  they 
were  alive  or  dead  ;  if  they  were  already  dead,  or  if  they 
should  be  hanged,  she  would  have  no  means  of  support, 
and  so  must  starve  or  eat  the  bread  of  charity.  (I  heard 
afterwards  that  she  never  did  hear  anything  of  them,  so  it 
is  certain  that  they  must  have  been  killed  on  the  battle-field 
or  cut  down  by  the  dragoons  in  trying  to  escape.  But  the 
poor  soul  survived  not  long  their  loss.) 

The  church  of  Ilminster  stands  upon  a  rising  ground  :  on 
the  north  is  the  grammar-school,  and  on  the  other  three  sides 
are  houses  of  the  better  sort,  of  which  Mrs.  Prior  had  one. 
The  place  which  surrounds  the  churchyard  and  hath  no  inn 
or  ale-house  in  it,  is  quiet  and  retired.  The  soldiers  came 
not  thither,  except  once  or  twice  with  orders  to  search  the 
houses  (and  with  a  private  resolution  to  drink  everything 
that  they  might  lay  hands  upon),  so  that,  for  two  poor 
women  in  our  miserable  circumstances,  we  could  not  have 
a  more  quiet  lodging. 

Despite  our  troubles,  I  slept  so  well  that  night  that  it 
was  past  seven  in  the  morning  when  I  awoke.  The  needs 
of  the  body  do  sometimes  overcome  the  cares  of  the  spirit. 
For  a  whole  fortnight  had  we  been  making  our  beds  on  the 
heather,  and  therefore  without  taking  off  our  clothes,  and 
that  day  we  had  walked  ten  miles  at  least  with  the  soldiers, 
so  that  I  slept  without  moving  or  waking  all  the  night.  In 
the  morning  I  dressed  quickly  and  hurried  to  the  jail,  not 
knowing  whether  I  might  be  admitted,  or  should  be  allowed 
speech  of  Barnaby.  Outside  the  gate,  however,  I  found  a 
crowd  of  people  going  into  the  prison  and  coming  out  of  it 
Some  of  the  women  like  ourselves  were  weeping — they 
were  those  whose  brothers  or  lovers,  husbands  or  sons, 
were  in  those  gloomy  walls.  Others  there  were  who 
brought  for  such  of  the  prisoners  as  had  money  to  buy 
them,  eggs,  butter,  white  bread,  chickens,  fruit,  and  all 
kinds  of  provisions  ;  some  brought  wine,  cider,  and  ale  ; 
some,  tobacco.     The  warders  who  stood  at  the  gates  made 


1 90  fOR  FAITH  JLND  FREEDOM. 

no  opposition  to  those  who  would  enter.  I  pressed  in  with 
a  beating  heart,  prepared  for  a  scene  of  the  most  dreadful 
repentance  and  g-loomy  forebodings.  What  I  saw  was 
quite  otherwise. 

The  gates  of  the  prison  opened  upon  a  courtyard,  not 
very  big,  where  the  people  were  selling  their  wares,  and 
some  of  the  prisoners  were  walking  about,  and  some  were 
chaffering  with  the  women  who  had  the  baskets.  On  the 
right-hand  side  of  the  yard  was  the  clink,  or  prison,  itself; 
on  the  left  hand  were  houses  for  the  warders  or  ofticers  of 
the  prison.  In  general  a  single  warder,  constable,  or  head- 
borough  is  enough,  for  a  town  such  as  Ilminster,  to  keep 
the  peace  of  the  prison  ;  which  is  for  the  most  part  empty 
save  when  they  enforce  some  new  act  against  Noncon- 
formists and  fill  it  with  them  or  with  Quakers.  Now,  how- 
ever, so  great  was  the  press  that,  instead  of  two,  there  were 
a  dozen  guards,  and,  instead  of  a  stout  cudgel,  they  went 
armed  with  pike  and  cutlass  to  keep  order  and  nrevent  es- 
capes. Six  of  them  occupied  the  gatehouse  ;  other  six  were 
within,  in  a  sort  of  guard-house,  where  they  slept,  on  the 
left  hand  of  the  court. 

The  ground-floor  of  the  clink  we  found  to  be  a  large  room, 
at  least  forty  feet  each  side  in  bigness.  On  one  side  of  it 
was  a  great  fireplace,  where,  though  it  was  the  month  of 
July,  there  was  burning  a  great  fire  of  Welsh  coal,  partly 
for  cooking  purposes,  because  all  that  the  prisoners  ate  was 
cooked  at  this  fire,  and  partly  because  a  great  fire  kept  con- 
tinually burning  sweetens  the  air  and  wards  off  jail  fever. 
On  another  side  was  a  long  table  and  several  benches. 
Thick  wooden  pillars  supported  thejoists  of  the  rooms  above  ; 
the  windows  were  heavily  barred,  but  the  shutters  were 
down,  and  there  was  no  glass  in  them.  In  spite  of  fire  and 
open  windows  the  place  was  stifling,  and  smelt  most  horri« 
ble.  Never  have  I  breathed  so  foul  an  air  :  there  lived  in 
this  room  about  eighty  prisoners  (later  on  the  numbers  were 
doubled)  ;  some  were  smoking  tobacco  and  drinking  cider 
or  ale  ;  some  were  frying  pieces  of  meat  over  the  fire  ;  and 
the  tobacco,  the  ale,  the  wine,  the  cooking,  and  the  people 
themselves — nearly  all  country  lads,  unwashed,  who  had 
slept,  since  Sedgemoor  at  least,  in  the  same  clothes  with- 
out once  changing — made  such  an  air  that  jail  fever,  putrid 
throats,  and  small-pox  (which  afterwards  broke  out)  should 
have  been  expected  sooner. 

They  were  all  talking,  laughing,  and  even  singing,  ■• 
that,  in  addition  to  the  noisome  stench  of  the  place,  there 


fUR  tAlTH  AND  FREEDOM. 


19 


«ras  such  a  din  as  one  may  hear  at  Sherborne  Fair  of  an 
evening.  I  expected,  as  1  have  said,  a  gloomy  silence, 
with  the  rattling  of  chains,  the  srroans  of  those  who  looked 
for  death,  and  perhaps  a  godly  repentance  visible  upon 
every  countenance.  Yet  they  were  all  laughing,  except  a 
few  who  sat  retired,  and  who  were  wounded.  I  say  that 
they  were  all  laughing.  They  had  nothing  to  expect  but 
death,  or  at  the  best  to  be  horribly  flogged,  to  be  transported, 
to  be  fined,  branded,  and  ruined.  Yet  they  laughed.  What 
means  the  hardness  and  indifference  of  nien?  Could  they 
not  think  of  the  women  they  had  left  at  home  ?  I  warrant 
that  none  of  them  were  laughing. 

Among  them,  a  pipe  of  tobacco  in  his  lips  and  a  mug  of 
strong  ale  before  him  on  the  table,  his  hat  flung  backward, 
sat  Barnaby,  his  face  showing,  apparently,  complete  satis- 
faction with  his  lot. 

When  he  saw  us  at  the  door  he  rose  and  came  to  meet  us. 

"  Welcome,"  he  said.  "  This  is  one  of  the  places  where 
King  Monmouth's  men  are  to  receive  the  honor  due  to 
them.  Courage,  gentle  hearts.  Be  not  cast  down.  Every- 
where the  prisons  are  full,  and  more  are  brought  in  every 
day.  Our  very  numbers  are  our  safety.  They  cannot  hang 
us  all.  And,  harkee,"  here  he  whispered,  "sister,  we  now 
know  that  Colonel  Kirke  hath  been  selling  pardons  at  ten 
pounds,  twenty  pounds,  and  thirty  pounds  apiece.  Where- 
fore we  are  well  assured  that,  somehow  or  other,  we  shall 
be  able  to  buy  our  release.  There  are  plenty  besides  Colo- 
nel Kirke  who  will  sell  a  prisoner  his  freedom." 

"Where  is  your  father  1 "  asked  my  mother. 

"  He  is  bestowed  above,  where  it  is  quieter,  except  for 
the  groaning  of  the  wounded.  Go  upstairs  and  you  will 
find  him.  And  there  is  a  surprise  for  you  besides.  You 
will  find  with  him  one  you  little  expect  to  see." 

"  Oh,  Barnaby,  is  there  new  misery  for  me  ?  Is  Robin  a 
prisoner .''  " 

"Robin  is  not  here,  Sis  ;  and  as  for  misery,  why,  that  is 
as  you  take  it.  To  be  sure  the  man  above  is  in  prison,  but 
no  harm  will  hap;^en  to  him.  Why  should  it  ?  He  did  not  go 
out  with  Monmouth's  men.  But  go  upstairs,  go  upstairs 
and  see  jfor  yourselves." 


I4i  FOR  FArTH  AND  FkF.F.DnM. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

IN    ILMINSTER   JAIL. 

I  KNOW  not  whom  I  expected  to  find  in  consequence  of 
Barnaby's  words,  as  we  went  up  the  dark  and  dirty  stairs 
which  led  to  the  upper  room.  Robin  was  not  a  prisoner, 
why,  then — but  I  know  not  what  I  thouglit,  all  being 
strange  and  dreadful. 

At  the  top  of  the  stairs  we  found  ourselves  in  a  room  of 
the  same  size  as  the  lower  chamber,  but  not  so  high,  and 
darker,  being  a  gloomy  place  indeed,  insomuch  that  it  was 
not  for  some  minutes  that  one  could  plainly  discern  things. 
It  was  lighted  by  a  low,  long  window,  set  very  close  with 
thick  bars,  the  shutters  thrown  open  so  that  all  the  light 
and  air  possible  to  be  admitted  might  come  in.  It  had  a 
great  fireplace,  but  there  was  no  fire  burning,  and  the  air  of 
the  room  ste"uck  raw,  though  outside  it  was  a  warm  and 
sunny  day.  The  roof  was  supported,  as  in  the  room  below, 
by  means  of  thick  square  pillars,  studded  with  great  nails, 
set  close  together,  for  what  purpose  I  know  not.  Every 
pari  of  the  woodwork  in  the  room  was  in  the  same  way 
stuck  full  of  nails.  On  the  floor  lay  half  a  score  of  mat- 
tresses, the  property  of  those  who  could  afford  to  pay  the 
warders  an  exorbitant  fee  for  the  luxury.  At  Ilminster,  as, 
I  am  told,  at  Newgate,  the  chief  prison  in  the  country,  the 
same  custom  obtains  of  exacting  heavy  fees  from  the  poor 
wi etches  clapped  into  ward.  It  is,  I  suppose,  no  sin  to  rob 
the  criminal,  the  debtor,  the  traitor,  or  the  rebel.  For  those 
who  had  nothing  to  pay  there  were  only  a  few  bundles  of 
straw.  And  on  these  were  lying  half  a  dozen  wretches 
whose  white  faces  and  glazed  eyes  showed  that  they  would 
indeed  cheat  Tom  the  Hangman,  though  not  in  the  way 
that  Barnaby  hoped.  These  were  wounded  either  in  Sedge- 
moor  fight  or  in  their  attempt  to  escape. 

Aiy  father  lay  on  a  pallet  bed.  His  face  showed  not  the 
least  change.  His  eyes  were  closed,  and  you  would  have 
thought  him  dead.  And  beside  him,  also  on  a  pallet,  sat. 
to  my  astonishment,  none  other  than  Sir  Christopher  him- 
self. 

He  rose  and  came  to  meet  us.  smiling  sadly. 


'^OR  tAITH  AND  f^REEDOM. 


193 


"Madam,"  he  said,  taking  my  mother's  v.ctiid,  "we 
meet  in  a  doleful  place,  and  we  are  indeed  in  wretched 
plight.  I  cannot  bid  you  welcome  ;  I  cannot  say  that  I  am 
glad  to  see  you.  There  is  nothing  that  I  can  say  of  com- 
fort or  of  hope,  except,  which  you  know  already,  that  we 
are  always  in  the  hands  of  the  Lord."' 

"Sir  Christopher,"'  said  my  mother,  "it  was  kind  and 
neighborly  in  you  to  come.  But  you  were  always  his  best 
friend.  Look  at  his  poor,  white  face  " — she  only  thought 
upon  her  husband.  "  You  would  think  him  dead.  More 
than  a  fortnight  he  hath  lain  thus — motionless.  I  think  he 
feels  no  pain.  Husband,  if  thou  canst  hear  me,  make  some 
sign,  if  it  be  but  to  shut  one  eye.  No,"  she  cried.  "Day 
after  day  have  I  thus  entieated  him  and  he  makes  no 
answer.  He  neither  sees  nor  hears.  V^et  he  doth  not  die, 
wherefore  I  think  that  he  may  yet  recover  speech  and  sit 
up  again,  and  presently,  perhaps,  walk  about  and  address 
himself  again  unto  his  studies." 

She  waited  not  for  any  answer,  but  knelt  down  beside 
him  and  poured  some  drops  of  milk  into  the  mouth  of  the 
sick  man.  Sir  Christopher  looked  at  her  mournfully  and 
shook  his  head. 

Then  he  turned  to  me  and  kissed  me  without  saying  a 
word. 

"  Oh,  sir !  ■'  I  cried,  "how  could  you  know  that  my 
father  would  be  brought  into  this  place  ?  "With  what  good- 
ness of  heart  have  you  come  to  our  help," 

"Nay,  child,"  he  replied,  gravely.  "I  came  because  I 
had  no  choice  but  to  come.  Like  your  father  and  your 
brother,  Grace,  I  am  a  prisoner. " 

"You,  sir.^  You  a  prisoner .-*  Why,  you  were  not  with 
the  duke." 

"That  is  most  true,  and  yet  a  prisoner.  Why,  after  the 
news  of  Sedgemoor  fight  I  looked  for  nothing  else.  They 
tried  to  arrest  Mr.  Speke,  but  he  has  fled  ;  they  have  locked 
up  Mr.  Prideaux  of  Ford  Abbey  ;  Mr.  Trenchard  has  retired 
across  the  seas.  Why  should  they  pass  me  over }  Nay, 
there  were  abundant  proofs  of  my  zeal  for  the  duke.  My 
grandson  and  my  grandnephcw  had  joined  the  rebels. 
Your  father  and  brother  rode  over  to  Lyme  on  my  horses  ; 
with  my  grandson  rode  off  a  dozen  lads  of  the  village. 
What  more  could  they  want.-*  More-over,  I  am  an  old 
soldier  of  Lord  Essex's  army  ;  and,  to  finish,  they  found  in 
the  window-seat  a  copy  of  Monmouth's  declaration,  which, 
indeed  I  had  forgotten,  or  I  might  have  destroyed  it," 


194 


rOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 


**  Alas  !  alas  !  "  I  cried,  wringing-  my  hands  with  teari 
"Your  honor,  too,  a  prisoner  !  " 

Since  the  sergeant  spoke  to  Barnaby  about  the  interest  ot 
friends,  I  had  been  thinking  that  Sir  Christopher,  whose 
power  and  interest,  I  fondly  thought,  must  be  equal  to  those 
of  any  lord  in  the  land,  would  interpose  to  save  us  all. 
And  he  was  now  a  prisoner  himself,  involved  in  the  com- 
mon ruin.  One  who  stands  upon  a  bridge  and  sees  with 
terror  the  last  support  carried  away  by  the  raging  flood,  feels 
such  despair  as  fell  upon  my  soul. 

*' Oh,  sir,"  I  cried  again.  ''It  is  line  upon  line — woe 
upon  woe." 

He  took  my  hand  in  his  and  held  it  tenderly. 

"My  child, "he  said,  "to  an  old  man  of  seventy-five 
what  doth  it  matter  whether  he  die  in  his  bed  or  whether  he 
die  upon  a  scaffold .?  Through  the  pains  of  death,  as  through 
a  gate,  we  enter  upon  our  rest." 

"  It  is  dreadful  !  "  I  cried  again.      "I  cannot  endure  it." 

"The  shame  and  ignominy  of  this  death,"  he  said,  "I 
shall,  I  trust,  regard  lightly.  We  have  struck  a  blow  for 
freedom  and  for  faith.  Well,  we  have  been  suffered  to  fail. 
The  time  hath  not  yet  come.  Yet,  in  the  end,  others  shall 
carry  on  the  cause,  and  religion  shall  prevail.  Shall  we 
murmur,  who  have  been  God's  instruments  .''  " 

"Alas  !  alas  !  "  I  cried  again. 

"To  me,  sweet  child,  it  is  not  terrible  to  contemplate 
my  end.  But  it  is  sad  to  think  of  thee,  and  of  thy  grave 
and  bitter  loss.  Hast  thou  heard  news  of  Robin  and  of 
Humphrey  ? " 

"  Oh,  sir,  are  they  also  in  prison  }     They  are  here  }  " 

"No,  but  I  have  news  of  them.  I  have  a  letter  brought 
to  me  but  yesterday.     Read  it,  my  child,  read  it. " 

He  pulled  the  letter  out  of  his  pocket  and  gave  it  to  me. 
Then  I  read  aloud,  and  thus  it  ran  : 

"  Honored  Sib  and  Grandfather, — I  am  writing  this  letter  from 
the  prison  of  Exeter,  where,  with  Huinplirey  and  about  two  hundred 
or  more  of  our  poor  fellows,  I  am  laid  by  the  heels  and  shall  so  con- 
tinue until  we  shall  all  be  tried. 

"  It  is  rumored  that  Lord  Jeffreys  will  come  down  to  try  us,  and  we 
are  assured  by  rumor  that  the  king  shows  himself  revengeful  and  is 
determined  that  there  shall  be  no  mercy  shown.  After  Sedgemoor  fight 
Ihey  hanged,  as  you  will  have  heard,  many  of  the  prisoners  at  Weston 
Zoyland,  at  Bridgwater,  and  at  Taunton,  v.ithout  trial.  If  the  king  con- 
tinue in  this  disposition  it  is  very  certain  tliat  though  the  common  sort 
may  be  forgiven,  tlie  gentlemen  and  those  who  were  officers  in  the  rebel 
army   will  certainly  not  escape.     Therefore,   I  have  no  hopes  but  to 


t'OR  FAITH  AXD  J'KEEDOM.  io* 

"Conclude  my  life  upon  the  gallows,  a  thing  which,  I  confess,  I  had 
never  looked  to  do.  1  hope  to  meet  my  fate  with  courage  and  resigna- 
tion. 

*'  Humphrey  is  with  me;  and  it  is  some  comfort  (though  I  know  not 
why)  that  we  shall  stand  or  fall  together;  for  if  I  was  a  captain  in  the 
army,  he  was  a  chirurgeon.  That  he  was  also  a  secret  agent  of  the 
exiles,  and  that  he  stirred  up  the  duke's  friends  on  his  way  from  Lon- 
don to  .Sherborne,  that  they  know  not,  or  it  would  certainly  go  hard 
with  him.  What  do  I  say  ?  Since  they  will  hang  him,  things  cannot 
very  well  go  harder. 

"When  the  fight  was  over  and  the  duke  and  Lord  Grey  fled,  there 
was  nothing  left  but  to  escape  as  best  as  we  might.  I  hope  that  som« 
of  our  Bradford  lads  will  make  their  way  home  in  safety;  they  stood 
their  ground  and  fought  valiantly.  Nay,  if  we  had  been  able  to  arm  all 
who  volunteered  and  would  have  enlisted,  and  if  our  men  had  all 
shown  such  a  spirit  as  your  valiant  lads  of  Bradford  Orcas,  then,  I  say, 
the  enemy  must  have  been  cut  to  pieces. 

"  When  I  had  no  choice  left  but  to  run  I  took  the  road  to  Bridg- 
water, intending  to  ride  back  to  that  place  where,  perhaps,  our  forces 
might  be  rallied.  But  this  proved  hopeless.  There  I  found,  however, 
Humphrey,  and  we  resolved  that  the  safest  plan  would  be  to  ride  by 
way  of  Taunton,  leaving  behind  us  the  great  body  of  the  king's  army, 
and  so  escape  to  London,  if  possible,  where  we  should  certainly  find 
hiding-places  in  plenty  until  the  pursuit  should  be  at  an  end.  Our 
plan  was  to  travel  along  byways  and  bridlepaths,  and  that  by  night 
only,  hiding  by  day  in  barns,  linneys,  and  the  like.  We  ha(l  money 
for  the  charges  of  our  journey.  Humphrey  would  travel  as  a  physician 
returning  to  London  from  Bath,  as  soon  as  we  had  gotten  out  of  the 
insurgent's  country.  I  was  to  be  his  servant.  Thus  we  arranged  the 
matter  in  our  minds,  and  already  I  thouglit  that  we  were  safe  and  in 
hiding  somewhere  in  London,  or  across  the  seas  in  the  Low  Countries 
again. 

''  Well,  to  make  short  my  story,  we  got  no  farther  than  Exeter,  where 
we  were  betrayed  by  a  rascal  countryman  who  recognized  us,  caused 
us  to  be  arrested,  and  swore  to  us.  Thereupon  we  were  clapped  into 
jail,  where  we  now  lie. 

"  Hoird  sir,  Humphrey,  I  am  sorry  to  write,  is  much  cast  down,  not 
because  he  dreads  death,  which  he  doth  not,  any  more  than  to  lie  upon 
his  bed;  but  because  he  lialh,  he  says,  drawn  so  many  to  their  ruin. 
He  numbers  me  among  those,  though,  indeed,  it  was  none  of  his 
doing,  but  of  my  own  free  will,  that  1  entered  upon  this  business,  which, 
contrary  to  reasonable  expectation,  hath  turned  out  so  ill.  Wherefore, 
dear  sir,  since  there  is  no  one  in  the  world  whose  opinion  and  coiuisel 
Humphrey  so  greatly  considers  as  your  own,  I  pray  you,  of  your  good- 
ness, send  him  some  words  of  consolation  and  cheer." 

"That  will  I,  right  readily,"  said  Sir  Christopher.  "At 
least  the  poor  lad  cannot  accuse  himself  of  dragging  me  into 
the  clink." 

"I  hoar"  (continued  Robin's)  letter  "that  my  mother  hath  gone 
with  Mr.  Boscorel  to  London  to  learn  if  aught  can  be  done  for  us.  If 
she  do  not  return  before  we  are  finished,  bid  her  think  kindly  of  Ilmu- 
phrey.  and  not  to  lay  these  things  to  his  charge.  As  for  my  dear  girl, 
my  Grace,  I  hear  nothing  of  her.     Miss  Blake,  who  led  themaid*  when 


t9^ 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 


they  gave  the  flags  to  the  duke,  is,  I  hear,  clapped  into  prison.  Gra<?4 
is  not  spoken  of.  I  am  greatly  i)erturbed  in  spirit  concerning  her,  and 
I  would  gladly,  if  t.hiit  might  be  compassed,  have  speech  with  her  before 
I  die.  I  fear  she  will  grieve  and  weep,  but  not  more  than  I  myself  at 
leaving  her,  poor  maid!  I  hear,  also,  nothing  concerning  her  father, 
who  was  red-hot  for  the  cause,  and  therefore,  1  fear,  will  not  be  passed 
over  or  forgotten;  nor  do  I  hear  aught  of  Barnaby,  who  I  hope  hath  es- 
caped on  shipboard,  as  he  said  that  he  should  do  if  things  went  ajar. 
Where  are  tiiey  all!  The  roads  are  covered  with  rough  men,  and  it  is 
not  fit  for  such  as  Grace  and  her  mother  to  be  travelling.  I  hope  that 
they  have  returned  in  safety  to  Bradford  Orcas,  and  that  my  old  mas- 
ter, Dr.  Eykin,  hath  forgotten  his  zeal  for  the  Protestant  duke  and  is 
already  seated  again  among  his  books.  If  that  is  so,  tell  Grace,  honored 
sir,  that  there  is  no  hour  of  the  day  or  night  but  I  think  of  her  con- 
tinually; that  the  chief  pang  of  my  approaching  fate  is  the  thought 
that  I  shall  leave  her  in  sorrow,  and  that  I  cannot  say  or  do  anything 
to  stay  her  sorrow.  Comfort  her  I  cannot,  save  with  words  which  will 
come  better  from  the  saintly  lips  of  her  father.  I  again  pray  thee  to 
assure  lu-r  of  my  faithful  love.  Tell  her  that  the  recollection  of  her 
sweet  face  and  steadfast  eyes  fills  me  with  so  great  a  longing  that  I 
would  fain  die  at  once  so  as  to  bring  nearer  the  moment  when  we  shall 
be  able  to  sit  together  in  heaven.  My  life  hath  been  sanctified,  if  I 
may  say  so  in  humility,  by  her  presence  in  my  heart,  which  drove  away  all 
common  and  unclean  things.  Of  such  strength  is  earthly  love.  Nay, 
I  could  not,  I  now  perceive,  be  happy  even  with  the  joys  of  heaven  if 
she  were  not  by  my  side.  Where  is  she,  my  heart,  my  love?  Pray  God 
she  is  in  safety. 

"  And  now,  sir,  I  liave  no  more  to  say.  The  prison  is  a  hot  and 
reeking  place;  at  night  it  is  hard  to  bear  the  foulness  and  the  stench  of 
it.     Humphrey  says  that  we  may  shortly  expect  some  jail  fever  or  small- 

Eox  to  break  out  among  us,  in  which  case  the  work  of  the  judges  may 
e  lightened.  The  good  people  of  this  ancient  city  are  in  no  way  afraid 
%}i  the  king's  vindictiveness,  bnt  send  in  of  their  bounty  quantity  of 
provisions — fruit,  eggs,  fresh  meat,  salted  meat,  ale  and  cider — every 
day  for  the  poor  prisoners,  which  shows  which  way  their  opinions  do 
lean  even  although  the  clergy  are  against  us.  Honored  sir,  I  am  sure 
and  certain  that  the  miscarriage  of  our  enterprise  was  caused  by  the 
conduct  of  those  who  had  us  in  hand.  In  a  year  or  two  there  shall  be 
seen  (but  not  by  us)  another  uprising,  under  another  leader,  with  an- 
other end. 

"So  no  more,  I  send  to  thee,  dear  and  honored  sir,  my  hoimden 
duty  and  my  grateful  tlianks,  for  all  that  I  owe  to  your  tender  care  and 
affection.  Pray  my  mother,  for  me,  to  mourn  no  more  for  me  than  is 
becoming  to  one  of  her  purity  and  virtue. 

"Alas!  it  is  in  thinking  upon  her,  and  upon  my  poor  lost  dear,  that 
my  heart  is  well-nigh  torn  in  pieces.  But  (tell  Humphrey)  through  no 
fault — no— through  no  fault  of  his. 

"From  thy  dutiful  and  obedient  grandson,  R.  C." 

I  read  this  all  throuo-h.  Then  I  folded  up  the  letter  and 
returned  it  to  Sir  Christopher.  As  he  took  it  the  tears  came 
into  his  dear  and  venerable  eyes  and  rolled  down  his 
cheeks. 

"My  dear,  my  dear,"  he  said,  "  it  is  hard  to  bear.  Every 
one  who  is  dear  to  thee  will  go  ;  there  is  an  end  of  all  ; 


h'OR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 


197 


unless  some  way,   of  which  we  know  nothing,  be  opened 
unto  us. " 

"  Why,"  I  said,  "if  we  were  all  dead  and  buried  and  our 
souls  together  in  heaven — " 

"Patience,  my  dear,"  said  the  old  man. 

"  Oh,  must  they  all  die— all .?  My  heart  will  burst.  Oh, 
sir,  will  not  one  suffice  for  all }  Will  they  not  take  me  and 
hang  me,  and  let  the  rest  go  free .?  " 

"Child,  "he  took  my  hand  between  his  own,  "God  knows 
that  if  one  life  would  suffice  for  all,  it  should  be  mine.  Nay, 
I  would  willingly  die  ten  times  over  to  save  thy  Robin  for 
thee.  He  is  not  dead  yet,  however.  Nor  is  he  sentenced. 
There  are  so  many  involved  that  we  may  hope  for  a  large 
measure  of  mercy.  Nay,  more.  His  mother  hath  gone  to 
London,  as  he  says  in  his  letter,  with  my  son-in-law,  Philip 
Boscorel,  to  see  if  aught  can  be  done,  even  to  the  selling  of 
my  whole  estate,  to  procure  the  enlargement  of  the  boys. 
I  know  not  if  anything  can  be  done,  but  be  assured  that 
Philip  Boscorel  will  leave  no  stone  unturned." 

"Oh,  can  money  buy  a  pardon.?  I  have  two  hundred 
gold  pieces.     They  are  Barnaby's — " 

"Then,  my  dear,  they  must  be  used  to  buy  pardon  for 
Barnaby  and  thy  father  ;  though  I  doubt  whether  any  par- 
don need  be  bought  for  one  who  is  brought  so  low." 

Beside  the  bed  my  mother  sat  crouched,  watching  his 
white  face  as  she  had  done  all  daylong  in  our  hiding-place. 
I  think  she  heeded  nothing  that  went  on  around  her,  being 
wrapped  in  her  hopes  and  prayers  for  the  wounded  man. 

Then  Sir  Christopher  kissed  me  gently  on  the  forehead, 

"They  say  the  king  is  unforgiving,  my  dear.  Expect 
not,  therefore,  anything.  Say  to  thyself,  every  morning, 
that  all  must  die.  To  know  the  worst  brings  with  it  some- 
thing of  consolation.  Robin  must  die  ;  Humphrey  must 
die  ;  your  brother  Barnaby  must  die  ;  your  father,  but  he  is 
well-nigh  dead  already,  and  myself — all  must  die  upon  the 
scaffold,  if  we  escape  this  noisome  jail.  In  thinking  this, 
remember  who  will  be  left.  My  dear,  if  thou  art  as  a  widow, 
and  yet  a  maiden,  I  charge  thee  that  thou  forget  thine  own 
private  griefs,  and  minister  to  those  who  will  have  none  but 
thee  to  help  them.  Live  not  for  thyself,  but  to  console  and 
solace  those  who,  like  thyself  bereaved,  will  need  thy  ten- 
der cares," 


igS  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOit, 


CHAPTER   XXVII. 

BEFORE  THE  ASSIZE. 

Then  we  sat  down  and  waited.  Day  after  day  we  went 
to  the  prison  where  my  mother  sat  by  my  father,  whose 
condition  never  changed  in  the  least,  being  always  that  of 
one  who  slept,  or,  if  his  eyes  were  open^,  was  unconscious, 
and,  though  he  might  utter  a  few  words,  had  no  command 
of  his  mind  or  of  his  speech.  Wherefore  we  hoped  that  he 
suffered  nothing.  'Twas  a  musket-ball  had  struck,  the 
surgeon  said,  in  his  backbone  between  the  shoulders,  where- 
by his  powers  of  motion  and  of  thought  were  suspended. 
I  know  not  whether  it  was  attempted  to  remove  the  ball,  or 
whether  it  was  lodged  there  at  all,  because  I  am  ignorant, 
and  to  me,  whether  he  had  been  struck  in  the  back  or  no,  it 
was  to  my  mind  certain  that  the  Lord  had  granted  my 
father's  earnest  prayer  that  he  should  again  be  permitted  to 
deliver  openly  the  message  that  was  upon  his  soul  ;  nay, 
had  given  him  three  weeks  of  continual  and  faithful  preach- 
ing, the  fruits  of  which,  could  we  perceive  them,  should  be 
abundant.  That  prayer  granted,  the  Lord,  I  thought,  was 
calling  him  to  rest.     Therefore  I  looked  for  no  improvement. 

One  other  letter  came  from  Exeter,  with  one  for  me,  with 
which  (because  I  could  not  leave  my  mother  at  such  a  time) 
I  was  forced  to  stay  my  soul,  as  the  lover  in  the  canticle 
stays  his  soul  with  apples.  I  have  that  letter  still  ;  it  hath 
been  with  me  always  ;  it  lay  hung  from  my  neck  in  the 
little  leathern  bag  in  which  I  carried  the  duke's  ring.  I  read 
it  again  and  again  until  I  knew  it  by  heart ;  yet  still  I  read 
it  again,  because  even  to  look  at  my  lover's  writing  had  in 
it  something  of  comfort  even  when  things  were  at  their  worst 
and  Egyptian  darkness  lay  upon  my  soul.  But  the  letter  I 
cannot  endure  to  copy  out,  or  suffer  others  to  read  it,  be- 
cause it  was  written  for  mine  own  eye,  and  none  other's. 
"  Oh,  my  love  !  "  he  said  ;  "  oh,  my  tender  heart,"  and  then 
a  hundred  prayers  for  my  happiness,  and  tears  for  my  tears, 
and  hopes  for  the  future,  which  would  be  not  the  earthly 
life,  but  the  future  reserved  by  merciful  Heaven  for  those 
who  have  been  called  and  chosen.     As  for  the  sharp  and 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 


199 


painful  passagie  by  which  we  must  travel  from  this  world 
to  the  next,  Robin  bade  me  take  no  thought  of  that,  but  to 
think  oi  him  either  as  my  lover  walking  with  me  beside  the 
stream,  or  as  a  spirit  waiting  for  me  to  join  him  in  the  heav- 
enly choir.  And  so  with  so  many  farewells  (the  letter  br-- 
ing  written  when  they  expected  the  judges  to  arrive  and  the 
assize  to  begin)  as  showed  his  tender  love  for  me.  No,  1 
cannot  write  down  this  letter  for  the  eyes  of  all  to  read. 
There  are  things  which  must  be  kept  hidden  in  our  own 
hearts  ;  and,  without  doubt,  every  woman  to  whom  gooil 
fortune  hath  given  a  lover  like  Robin,  with  a  heart  as  fond 
and  a  pen  as  ready  (though  he  could  never,  like  Humphrey 
write  sweet  verses),  hath  received  an  epistle  or  two  like  un- 
to mine  for  the  love  and  tenderness,  but  (I  hope)  without 
the  sadness  of  impending  deatli. 

It  was  four  weeks  after  we  were  brought  to  Ilminster  thai 
the  news  came  to  us  of  the  coming  trials.  There  were  five 
judges,  but  the  world  knows  but  of  one,  namely,  George, 
Lord  Jeffreys,  Chief-Justice  of  England  ;  and  now,  indeed, 
we  began  to  understand  the  true  misery  of  our  situation.  Foi 
every  one  knew  the  character  of  the  judge,  who,  though  a 
young  man  still,  was  already  the  terror  alike  of  prisoners, 
witnesses,  and  juries.  It  promised  to  be  a  black  and  bloody 
assize  indeed,  since  this  man  was  to  be  the  judge. 

The  aspect  of  the  prison  by  this  time  was  changed.  The 
songs  and  merriment,  the  horseplay  and  loud  laughter,  by 
which  the  men  had  at  first  endeavored  to  keep  up  their 
hearts,  were  gone.  The  country  lads  pined  and  languished 
in  confinement  ;  their  cheeks  grew  pale,  and  their  eyes 
heavy.  Then  the  prison  was  so  crowded  that  there  was 
barely  room  for  all  to  lie  at  night,  and  the  yard  was  too 
small  for  all  to  walk  therein  by  day.  In  the  morning,  though 
they  opened  all  the  shutters,  the  air  was  so  foul  that  in  go- 
ing into  it  from  the  open,  one  felt  sick  and  giddy,  and  was 
sometimes  fain  to  run  out  and  drink  cold  water.  Oh,  the 
terrible  place  for  an  old  man  such  as  Sir  Christo])her  !  ^'ct 
he  endured,  without  murmuring,  the  foulness  and  the  hard- 
ness, comforting  the  sick,  still  reproving  blasphemies,  and 
setting  an  example  of  cheerfulness.  The  wounded  men  all 
died,  I  believe  ;  which,  as  the  event  proved,  was  lucky  for 
them.  It  would  have  saved  the  rest  much  suffering  had 
they  all  died  as  well.  And  to  think  that  this  was  only  one 
of  many  prisons  thus  crowded  with  poor  captives  !  At 
Wells,  Philip's  Norton,  Shepton  Mallet,  Bath,  Bridgwater, 
Taunton,  Ilchcster,  Somcrtoii.  Langport,  Bristol,  and  Kxctcr, 


200  f'OR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

there  was  a  like  assemblage  of  poor  wretches   thus   waiting 
their  trials. 

I  said  that  there  was  now  little  singing.  There  was,  how- 
ever, drinking  enough,  and  more  than  enough.  They  drank 
to  drown  their  sorrows  and  to  forget  the  horrid  place  in 
which  they  lay,  and  the  future  which  awaited  them.  When 
they  were  drunk  they  would  bellow  some  of  their  old  songs, 
but  the  bawling  of  a  drunkard  will  not  communicate  to  his 
companions  the  same  joy  as  the  music  of  a  merry  heart. 

While  we  were  expecting  to  hear  that  the  judge  had  ar- 
rived at  Salisbury  the  fever  broke  out  in  the  prison  of  II- 
minster.  At  Wells  they  were  afflicted  with  the  small-pox, 
but  at  Ilminster  it  was  jail  fever  which  fell  upon  the  poor 
prisoners.  Everybody  hath  heard  of  this  terrible  disorder, 
which  is  communicated  by  those  who  have  it  to  those  who 
go  among  them,  namely,  to  the  warders  and  turnkeys,  and 
even  to  the  judges  and  the  juries.  Onthefirst  day  after  it  broke 
out,  which  was  with  an  extraordinary  virulence,  four  poor 
men  died  and  were  buried  the  next  morning.  After  this  no 
day  passed  but  there  were  funerals  at  the  churchyard,  and 
the  mounds  of  their  graves — the  graves  of  those  poor  coun- 
trymen who  thought  to  fight  the  battle  of  the  Lord — stood 
side  by  side  in  a  long  row  growing  continually  longer.  We 
— that  is,  good  Mrs.  Prior  and  myself — sat  at  the  window 
and  watched  the  funerals,  praying  for  the  safety  of  those  we 
loved. 

So  great  was  the  fear  of  infection  in  the  town  that  no  one 
was  henceforth  allowed  within  the  prison,  nor  were  the 
warders  allowed  to  come  out  of  it.  This  was  a  sad  order 
for  me,  because  my  mother  chose  to  remain  within  the 
prison,  finding  a  garret  at  the  house  of  the  chief  constable, 
and  I  could  no  longer  visit  that  good  old  man  Sir  Christo- 
pher, whose  only  pleasure  left  had  been  to  converse  with 
me  daily,  and,  as  I  now  understand,  by  the  refreshment  the 
society  of  youth  brings  to  age,  to  lighten  the  tedium  of  his 
imprisonment. 

Henceforth,  therefore,  I  went  to  the  prison  door  every 
morning  and  sent  in  my  basket  of  provisions,  but  was  not 
suffered  to  enter,  and  though  I  could  have  speech  with  my 
mother  or  with  Barnaby,  they  were  on  one  side  the  bars  and 
I  on  the  other. 

It  was  at  this  time  that  I  made  the  acquaintance  of  Mr. 
George  Penne.  This  creature  (a  villain,  as  I  afterwards  dis- 
covered, of  the  deepest  dye)  was  to  external  appearance 
^  grave  and  sober  merchant,      He  was  dressed  in  brown 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FRFEDOAf.  2ot 

cloth  and  carried  a  g-old-headed  stick  in  his  hand.  He  came 
to  llminster  about  the  end  of  August  or  the  beginning  of 
September,  and  began  to  inquire  particularly  into  the  names 
and  the  circumstances  of  the  prisoners,  pretending  (such 
was  his  craftiness)  a  great  tenderness  for  their  welfare.  He 
did  the  same  thing,  we  heard  afterwards,  wherever  the 
Monmouth  prisoners  were  confined.  At  llminster,  the 
fever  being  in  the  jail,  he  was  not  permitted  to  venture 
within,  but  stood  outside  and  asked  of  any  who  seemed  to 
know,  who  and  what  were  the  prisoners  within  and  what 
were  their  circumstances. 

He  accosted  me  one  morning  when  I  was  standing  at  the 
wicket  waiting  for  my  basket  to  be  taken  in. 

"  Madam,"  he  said,  "  you  are  doubtless  a  friend  of  some 
poor  prisoner.  Your  father  or  your  brother  may  unhappily 
be  lying  within." 

Now  I  had  grown  somewhat  cautious  by  this  time. 
Wherefore,  fearing  some  kind  of  snare  or  trap,  I  replied, 
gravely,  that  such  indeed  might  be  the  case. 

"Then,  madam,"  he  said,  speaking  in  a  soft  voice  and 
looking  full  of  compassion,  "  if  that  be  so,  suffer  me,  I  pray 
you,  to  wish  him  a  happy  deliverance  ;  and  this  indeed  from 
the  bottom  of  my  heart." 

"Sir,  "I  said,  moved  by  the  earnestness  of  his  manner, 
"  I  know  not  who  you  may  be,  but  I  thank  you.  Such  a 
wish,  I  am  sure,  will  not  procure  you  the  reward  of  a  prison. 
Sir,  I  wish  you  a  good-day. " 

So  he  bowed  and  left  me  and  passed  on. 

But  next  day  I  found  him  in  the  same  place.  And  his 
eyes  were  more  filled  with  compassion  than  before,  and  his 
voice  was  softer. 

"I  cannot  sleep,  madam,"  he  said,  "for  thinking  of  these 
poor  prisoners  ;  I  hear  that  among  them  is  none  other  than 
Sir  Christopher  Challis,  a  gentleman  of  great  esteem  and 
well  stricken  in  years.  And  there  is  also  the  pious  and 
learned  (but  most  unfortunate)  Dr.  Comfort  Eykin,  who 
rode  with  the  army  and  preached  daily,  and  is  now,  I  hear, 
grievously  wounded  and  bedridden." 

"Sir,"  I  said,  "Dr.  Comfort  Eykin  is  my  father.  It  is 
most  true  that  he  is  a  prisoner,  and  that  he  is  wounded." 

He  heaved  a  deep  sigh  and  wiped  a  tear  from  his  eyes. 

"It  is  now  certain,"  he  said,  "  that  Lord  Jeffreys  will 
come  down  to  conduct  the  trials.  Nay,  it  is  reported  that 
he  has  already  arrived  at  Salisbury,  breathing  fire  and  rc- 
Teng;e,  and  that  he  hath  with  him  four  other  judg^es  and  -» 


202  FOR  FAITH  aXD  FREEDOM. 

troop  of  horse.  What  they  will  do  with  so  many  prisoners 
I  know  not.  I  fear  that  it  will  go  hard  with  all  ;  but,  as 
haj^pcns  in  such  cases,  those  who  have  money,  and  know 
how  to  spend  it,  may  speedily  get  their  liberty." 

'•  How  are  they  to  spend  it  ? " 

'•  \\  hy,  madam,  it  is  not  indeed  to  be  looked  for  that  you 
should  know.  But  when  the  time  comes  for  the  trial,  should 
I,  as  will  very  likely  happen,  be  in  the  way,  send  for  me, 
and  whatever  the  sentence,  I  warrant  we  shall  find  a  way 
to  "scape  it — even  if  it  be  a  sentence  of  death.  Send  for 
nie  ;  my  name  is  George  Penne,  and  I  am  a  well-known 
merchant  of  Bristol." 

It  was  then  that  Barnaby  came  to  the  other  side  of  the 
wicket.     We  could  talk,  but  could  not  touch  each  other. 

"All  is  well,  sis,"  he  said,  "dad  is  neither  better  nor 
worse,  and  Sir  Christopher  is  hearty,  though  the  prison  is 
like  the  'tween  decks  of  a  ship  with  yellow-jack  aboard, 
just  as  sweet  and  pleasant  for  the  air  and  just  as  merry  for 
the  crew." 

"  Barnaby,"  I  said,   "  the  judges  are  now  at  Salisbury." 

"Ay,  ay  ;  I  thought  they  would  have  been  there  before. 
We  shall  be  tried,  they  tell  me,  at  Wells,  which  it  is  thought 
will  be  taken  after  other  towns.  So  there  is  still  a  tidy 
length  of  rope.  Sis,  this  continual  smoking  of  tobacco  to 
keep  off  infection  doth  keep  a  body  dry.  Cider  will  serve, 
but  let  it  be  a  runlet  at  least. 

"He  called  you  sister,  madam,"  said  I\Ir.  Penne,  curi- 
ously. "  Have  you  brother  as  well  as  father  in  this 
place  ?  " 

"Alas  !  sir,  I  have  not  only  my  father,  my  mother,  and 
my  brother  in  this  place,  but  my  father-in-law  (as  I  hoped 
soon  to  call  him),  and  in  Exeter  jail  is  my  lover  and  his 
cousin.     Oh,  sir.  if  you  mean  honestly — " 

"Madam,"  he  laid  his  hand  upon  his  breast,  "I  am  all 
honesty.  I  have  no  other  thought,  I  swear  to  you,  than  to 
save,  if  possible,  the  lives  of  these  poor  men." 

He  walked  with  me  to  my  lodging  and  I  there  told  him 
not  only  concerning  our  own  people,  but  also  all  that  I  knew 
of  the  prisoners  in  this  jail  ;  they  were  for  the  most  part  poor 
and  humble  men.  He  made  notes  in  a  bo«k,  which 
caused  me  some  misgivings,  but  he  assured  me  again  and 
again  that  all  he  desired  was  to  save  their  lives.  And  I  now 
understand  that  he  spoke  the  truth  indeed,  but  not  the  whole 
truth. 

"Your  brother,  for  instance,"   he   said;    "oh,   madam, 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 


203 


'twere  a  thousand  pities  that  so  brave  a  young  man,  so 
stout  withal,  should  be  hanged,  drawn,  and  quartered.  And 
your  lover  at  Exeter,  doubtless  a  tall  and  proper  youth  ;  and 
the  other  whom  you  have  named.  Dr.  Humphrey  Challis, 
and  your  father-in-law  (as  1  hope  he  will  be),  Sir  Christo- 
pher, and  your  own  father.  Why,  madam,"  he  grew  quite 
warm  upon  it,  "if  you  will  but  furnish  some  honest  mer- 
chant— I  say  not  myself,  because  I  know  not  if  you  would 
trust  me — but  some  honest  merchant  with  the  necessary 
moneys,  I  will  engage  that  they  shall  all  be  saved  from 
hanging.  To  be  sure  these  are  all  captains  and  officers,  and 
to  get  their  absolute  pardon  will  be  a  great  matter,  perhaps 
above  your  means.  Yet  Sir  Christopher  hath  a  good  estate 
I  am  told." 

This  George  Penne  was,  it  is  true,  a  Bristol  merchant,  en- 
gaged in  the  East  India  trade  ;  that  is  to  say,  he  bought 
sugar  and  tobacco,  and  had  shares  in  ships  which  sailed  to 
and  from  Bristol  and  the  West  Indies,  and  sometimes  made 
voyages  to  the  Guinea  Coast  for  negroes.  But,  in  common 
with  many  Bristol  merchants,  he  had  another  trade,  and  a 
very  profitable  trade  it  is,  namely,  what  is  called  kidnap- 
ping ;  that  is,  buying  or  otherwise  securing  criminals  who 
have  been  pardoned  or  reprieved  on  condition  of  going  to 
the  plantations.  They  sell  these  wretches  for  a  term  of 
years  to  the  planters  and  make  a  great  profit  by  the  transac- 
tion. And,  foreseeing  that  there  would  presently  be  a  rare 
abundance  of  such  prisoners,  the  honest  Mr.  George  Penne 
was  going  from  prison  to  prison,  finding  out  what  persons 
of  substance  there  were  who  would  pay  for  their  sentence 
to  be  thus  mitigated.  In  the  event,  though  things  were 
not  ordered  exactly  as  he  could  have  wished,  this  worthy 
man  (his  true  worth  you  shall  presently  learn)  made  a  pretty 
penny,  as  the  saying  is,  out  of  the  prisoners.  What  he 
made  out  of  us,  and  by  what  lies,  you  shall  learn.  But,  by 
ill-fortune,  he  got  not  the  fingering  of  the  great  sums  which 
he  hoped  of  us. 

And  now  the  news,  from  Winchester  first,  and  from  Dor- 
chester afterwards,  filled  the  hearts  of  all  with  a  dismay 
which  is  beyond  all  power  of  words  to  tell.  For  if  an  an- 
cient lady  of  good  repute  (though  the  widow  of  a  regicide), 
such  a  woman  as  Lady  Lisle,  seventy  years  of  age,  could 
be  condemned  to  be  burned,  and  was  in  fact  beheaded,  for 
no  greater  offence  than  harboring  two  rebels  herself,  igno- 
rant of  who  they  were,  or  whence  they  came,  what  could 
any  hope  who  had  actually  borne  arms  ?     And,  again,   at 


204  ^'OJ^  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

Dorchester,  thirty  who  pleaded  not  guilty  were  found  guilty 
and  condemned  to  be  hanged,  and  nearly  three  hundred 
who  pleaded  guilty  were  sentenced  to  be  hanged  at  the 
same  time.  It  was  not  an  idle  threat  intended  to  terrify  the 
rest,  because  thirteen  of  the  number  were  executed  on  the 
following  Monday,  and  eighty  afterwards.  Among  those 
who  were  first  hanged  were  many  whom  we  knew.  The 
aged  and  pious  Dr.  Sampson  Larke,  the  Baptist  minister  of 
Lynn,  for  instance,  was  one.  Colonel  Holmes  (whom  the 
king  had  actually  pardoned)  was  another,  and  young  Mr. 
Hewling,  whose  case  was  like  that  of  Robin's.  This  terri- 
ble news  caused  great  despondency  and  choking  in  the  prison, 
where  also  the  fever  daily  carried  off  one  or  two. 

Oh,  my  poor  heart  fell,  and  I  almost  lost  the  power  of 
prayer,  when  I  heard  that  from  Dorchester  the  judge  was 
riding  in  great  state,  driving  his  prisoners  before  him,  to 
Exeter,  where  there  were  two  hundred  waiting  their  trial 
And  among  them  Robin — my  Robin. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

BENJAMIN. 

It  was  the  evening  of  September  the  sixteenth,  about  nine 
of  the  clock.  I  was  sitting  alone  in  my  lodging.  Down- 
stairs I  heard  the  voice  of  the  poor  widow,  Mrs.  Prior,  who 
had  received  us.  She  was  praying  aloud  with  some  godly 
friends  for  the  safety  of  her  sons.  These  young  men,  as  I 
have  said,  were  never  more  heard  of,  and  were  therefore  al- 
ready, doubtless,  past  praying  for.  I,  who  ought  to  have 
been  praying  with  them,  held  Robin's  last  letter  in  my 
hands.  I  knew  it  by  heart,  but  I  must  still  be  reading  it 
again  and  again ;  thinking  it  was  his  voice  which  was  in- 
deed speaking  to  me,  trying  to  feel  his  presence  near  me,  to 
hear  his  breath,  to  see  his  very  eyes.  In  the  night,  waking 
or  sleeping,  I  still  would  hear  him  calling  to  me  aloud. 
"  My  heart — my  life — my  love!"  he  would  cry.  I  heard 
him,  I  say,  quite  plainly.  By  special  mercy  and  grace  this 
power  was  accorded  to  me,  because  I  have  no  doubt  that 
in  his  mind,  while  lying  in  his  noisome  prison,  he  did,  turn 


1-Ok  h'AITH  AND  FREEDOM.  205 

his  thoughts,  yea,  and  the  yearnings  of  his  fond  heart  to  the 
maid  he  loved.  But  now  the  merciless  judge  who  had  sen- 
tenced three  hundred  men  to  one  common  doom — three  hun- 
dred men  !  was  such  a  sentence  ever  known  ? — had  left 
Dorchester,  and  was  already,  perhaps,  at  Exeter.  Oh  !  Per- 
haps Robin  had  by  this  time  stood  his  trial  ;  what  place  was 
left  for  prayer?  For  if  the  poor  ignorant  clowns  were  con- 
demned to  death,  how  much  more  the  gentlemen,  the  oflficers 
of  Monmouth's  army.  Perhaps  he  was  already  executed — 
my  lover — my  boy — my  Robin — taken  out  and  hanged,  and 
now  a  cold  and  senseless  corpse.  Then  the  wailings  and 
prayers  of  the  poor  woman  below,  added  to  tiie  distraction 
of  these  thoughts,  made  me  feel  as  if  I  were  indeed  losing 
my  senses.  At  this  time  it  was  blow  upon  blow  ;  line  upon 
line  ;  the  sky  was  black  ;  the  heavens  were  deaf.  Is  there, 
can  there  be,  a  more  miserable  thing  than  to  feel  that  the 
very  heavens  are  deaf.?  The  mercy  of  the  Lord,  his  kindly 
hearkening  to  our  cries  and  prayers,  these  we  believe  as  we 
look  for  the  light  of  day  and  the  warmth  of  the  sun.  Nay, 
this  belief  is  the  very  breath  of  our  life,  so  that  there  is  none 
but  the  most  hardened  and  abandoned  sinner  who  doth  not 
still  feel  that  he  hath  in  the  Lord  a  Father  as  well  as  a  judge. 
To  lose  that  belief — 'twere  better  to  be  a  lump  of  senseless 
clay.  The  greatest  misery  of  the  lost  soul,  even  greater 
than  his  continual  torment  of  lire,  and  his  never  ending 
thirst,  and  the  gnawing  of  remorse,  must  be  to  feel  that  the 
heavens  are  deaf  to  his  prayers ;  deaf  forever  and  forever. 

At  this  time  my  prayers  were  all  for  safety.  "  Safety, 
good  Lord,  give  them  safety.  Save  them  from  the  execu- 
tioner. Give  them  safety."  Thus,  as  Barnaby  said,  the  ship- 
wrecked mariner  clinging  to  the  mast  asks  not  for  a  green, 
pleasant,  and  fertile  shore,  but  for  land — only  for  land.  I 
sat  there  musing  sadly,  the  Bible  on  the  table  and  a  lighted 
candle.  I  read  not  in  the  Bible,  but  listened  to  the  wailing 
of  the  poor  soul  below,  and  looked  at  the  churchyard  with- 
out, the  moonlight  falling  upon  the  fresh  mounds  which 
covered  the  graves  of  the  poor,  dead  prisoners.  Suddenly  I 
heard  a  voice — a  loud  and  harsh  voice — and  footsteps.  1 
knew  both  footsteps  and  voice,  and  I  sprang  to  my  feet 
trembling,  because  I  was  certain  that  some  new  disaster  had 
befallen  us. 

Then  the  steps  mounted  the  stairs,  the  door  was  opened, 
and  Benjamin — none  other  than  Benjamiji — appeared.  What 
did  he  here  ?  He  was  so  big,  with  so  red  a  face,  that  his 
presence  seemed  to  fill  the  room.     And  with  him — what  did 


2o6  ^^OR  Paith  and  freedom. 

this  mean  ? — came  madam  herself,  who  I  thought  to  hav* 
been  at  Exeter.  Alas  !  her  eyes  were  red  with  weeping,  her 
cheeks  were  thin  and  wasted  with  sorrow ;  her  lips  were 
trembling. 

"  Grace  !  "  she  cried,  holding  out  her  hands,  "  Child,  these 
terrible  things  are  done,  and  yet  we  live.  Alas  !  we  live. 
Are  our  hearts  made  of  stone  that  we  still  live  t  As  for  me, 
I  cannot  die,  though  I  lose  all — all — all." 

"  Dear  madam,  what  hath  happened  ?  More  misery  ! 
more  disaster  !     Oh,  tell  me — tell  me." 

"  Oh,  my  dear  they  have  been  tried  ;  they  have  been 
tried  and  they  are  condemned  to  die,  both  Robin — my  son 
Robin — and  with  him  Humphrey,  who  dragged  him  into  the 
business  and  alone  ought  to  suffer  for  both.  But  there  is  now 
no  justice  in  the  land.  No — no  more  justice  can  be  had. 
Else  Humphrey  should  have  suffered  for  all." 

There  was  something  strange  in  her  eyes  ;  she  did  not  look 
like  a  mother  robbed  of  her  children  ;  she  gazed  upon  me  as 
if  there  were  something  else  upon  her  mind,  as  if  the  con- 
demnation of  her  son  was  not  enough  ! 

"  Robin  will  be  hanged,"  she  went  on.  "  He  hath  been 
the  only  comfort  of  my  life  since  my  husband  was  taken 
from  me,  when  he  was  left  an  infant  in  my  arms.  Robin 
will  be  hanged  like  any  common  gypsy  caught  stealing  a 
sheep.  He  will  be  hanged  and  drawn  and  quartered,  and 
those  goodly  limbs  of  his  will  be  stuck  upon  poles  for  all  to 
see. " 

Truly  I  looked  for  nothing  less.  Barnaby  bade  me  look 
for  nothing  less  than  this,  but  at  the  news  I  fell  into  a  swoon. 
So  one  who  knoweth  beforehand  that  he  is  to  feel  the  sur- 
geon's knife,  and  thinks  to  endure  the  agony  without  a  cry, 
is  fain  to  shriek  and  scream  when  the  moment  comes. 

When  I  recovered  I  was  sitting  at  the  open  window, 
madam  applying  a  wet  cloth  to  my  forehead. 

"  Have  no  fear,"  Benjamin  was  saying.  "  She  will  do 
what  you  command  her,  so  only  that  he  may  go  free." 

"  Is  there  no  way  but  that  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  None."     And  then  he  swore  a  great  oath. 

]My  eyes  being  open  and  my  sense  returned,  I  perceived 
that  Mrs.  Prior  was  also  in  the  room.  And  I  wondered  (in 
such  moments  the  mind  finds  relief  in  trifles)  that  Benjamin's 
face  should  have  grown  so  red  and  his  cheeks  so  fat. 

"  Thou  hast  been  in  a  swoon,  my  dear,"  said  madam, 
"  but  'tis  past." 

"  Why  is  Benjamin  here  ?  "  I  a.'^ked. 


fiOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 


20) 


He  looked  at  madam,  who  cast  down  her  eyes,  I  knew 
not  why. 

"  Benjamin  is  now  our  only  friend,''  she  replied,  without 
looking  up.  "  It  is  out  of  his  kindness — yes,  his  kindness 
of  heart — that  he  hath  come. " 

"  I  do  not  understand.  If  Robin  is  to  die,  what  kindness 
can  he  show  .''  " 

"  Tell  her,  Benjamin,"  said  madam,  "  tell  her  of  the  trials 
at  Exeter. " 

"  His  lordship  came  to  Exeter,"  Benjamin  began,  "on 
the  evening  of  September  the  thirteenth,  escorted  by  many 
country  gentlemen  and  a  troop  of  horse.  I  had  the  honor 
of  riding  with  him.  The  trials  began  the  day  before  yester- 
day, the  fourteenth. " 

"Pray,  good  sir,"  asked  the  poor  woman  who  had  lost 
her  son,   "  did  you  observe  my  boy  among  the  prisoners?" 

"  How  the  devil  should  I  know  your  boy  .?  "  he  replied, 
turning  upon  her  roughly,  so  that  she  asked  no  more  ques- 
tions. "If  they  were  rebels  they  deserve  hanging,"  here 
she  shrieked  aloud  and  fled  the  room.  ' '  The  trials  began 
with  two  fellows  who  pleaded  '  not  guilty,'  but  were  quickly 
proved  to  have  been  in  arms  and  were  condemned  to  death. 
One  of  them  being  sent  out  to  instant  execution,  the  rest 
who  were  brought  up  that  day,  among  whom  were  Robin 
and  Humphrey,  pleaded  guilty,  being  partly  terrified  and 
partly  persuaded  that  it  was  their  only  chance  of  escape. 
So  they,  too,  were  condemned,  two  hundred  and  forty  in 
all,  every  man  Jack  of  them,  to  be  hanged,  drawn  and  quar- 
tered, and  their  limbs  to  be  afterwards  stuck  on  poles  for 
the  greater  terror  of  evil-doers  ; "  he  said  these  words  with 
such  a  fire  in  his  eyes,  and  such  a  dreadful  threatening 
voice  as  made  me  tremble.  "Then  they  were  all  taken 
back  to  jail,  where  they  will  lie  until  the  day  of  execution, 
and  the  Lord  have  mercy  upon  their  souls  !  " 

The  terrible  fudge  Jeffreys  himself  could  not  look  more 
terrible  than  Benjamin  when  he  uttered  the  prayer  with 
which  a  sentence  to  death  is  concluded. 

"Benjamin,  were  you  in  the  court  to  see  and  hear  the 
condemnation  of  your  own  cousins  1  " 

"I  was.  I  sat  in  the  body  of  the  court,  in  the-fxlace  re- 
served for  counsel." 

"Could  you  say  nothing  that  wo-uld  help  them  ?  " 

"  Nothing.  Not  a  word  from  any  one  could  help  them. 
Consider,  one  of  them  was  an  officer,  and  one  of  them  was 
a  surgeon  Ir  the  army.     The  ignorant  rustics  whom  they 


_'(I8  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

led  maj'  some  of  them  escape,  but  the  officers  can  look  for 
no  mercy." 

"Madam,"  I  cried,  "I  must  see  llobin  before  he  dies, 
though  God  knows  there  are  those  here  who  want  my  ser- 
vices daily.  Yet  I  must  see  Robin.  He  will  not  die  easy 
unless  he  sees  me  and  kisses  me  once." 

Madam  made  no  reply. 

"For  a  week,"  said  Benjamin,  "they  are  safe.  I  do  not 
think  they  will  be  executed  for  a  week  at  least.  But  it  is 
not  wise  to  reckon  on  a  reprieve  even  for  an  hour;  the  judge 
may  at  any  time  order  their  execution." 

"I  will  go  to-morrow." 

"That  will  be  seen,"  said  Benjamin. 

"My  dear,"  said  madam,  "my  nephew  Benjamin  is  a  friend 
of  the  judge,  Lord  Jeffries." 

"Say  rather  a  follower  and  admirer  of  that  great,  learned 
and  religious  man.  One  who  is  yet  but  a  member  of  the 
outer  bar  must  not  assume  the  style  and  title  of  friend  to  a 
man  whose  next  step  must  be  the  woolsack." 

Heavens !  He  called  the  inhuman  wretch  who  had  sen- 
tenced an  innocent  old  woman  of  seventy  to  be  burned  alive, 
and  five  hundred  persons  to  be  hanged,  and  one  knows  not 
how  many  to  be  inhumanly  flogged — great  and  religious ! 

"If  interest  can  save  any,"  madam  said,  softly,  "Benja- 
min can  command  that  interest,  and  he  is  on  the  side  of 
mercy,  especially  where  his  cousins  are  concerned." 

I  now  observed  that  madam,  who  had  not  formerly  been 
wont  to  regard  her  nephew  with  much  affection,  observed 
toward  him  the  greatest  respect  and  submission. 

"Madam,"  he  replied,  "you  know  the  goodness  of  my  heart. 
What  man  can  do  shall  be  done  by  me,  not  only  for  Robin, 
but  for  the  others  who  are  involved  with  hini  in  common 
ruin.  But  there  are  conditions  with  which  I  have  taken  pains 
to  acquaint  you." 

Madam  sighed  heavily  and  looked  as  if  she  would  speak, 
but  refrained,  and  I  saw  the  tears  rolling  down  her  cheeks. 

"What  conditions,  Benjamin?"  I  asked  him.  "Conditions! 
For  trying  to  save  your  own  cousins  and  your  own  grand- 
father !  Conditions !  Why,  you  should  be  moving  heaven 
and  earth  for  tb',m  instead  of  making  conditions." 

"It  needs  not  so  much  exertion,"  he  replied,  with  an  un- 
becoming grin.  "First,  Grace,  I  must  own,  child,  that  the 
two  years  or  thereabouts  since  I  saw  thee  last  have  added 
greatly  to  thy  charms,  at  which  I  rejoice." 

"Oh,  what  have  my  charms  to  do  with  the  business  ?" 


I'OR  FAITH  AXD  FREEDOM. 


209 


"Much,  as  thou  wilt  presently  discover.  But  let  me  re- 
mind you  both  that  there  threaten — nay,  there  are  actually 
overhanging- — disasters,  the  like  of  which  never  happen  save 
in  time  of  civil  war  and  of  rebellion.  My  grandfather  is  in 
prison,  and  will  be  tried  on  a  charge  of  sending  men  and 
horses  to  join  Monmouth.  Nay,  the  duke's  proclamation 
was  found  in  his  house  ;  he  will  be  certainly  condemned, 
and  his  estates  contiscated.  So  there  will  be  an  end  of  as 
old  a  tamily  as  lives  in  Somerset.  Then  there  is  thy  father, 
child,  who  was  preacher  to  the  army,  and  did  make  mis- 
chief in  stirring  up  the  fanatical  zeal  of  many.  Think  you 
that  he  can  escape  .?  Then  there  is  thy  brother,  Barnaby, 
who  was  such  a  fool  as  to  meddle  in  what  concerned  him 
not,  and  now  will  hang  therefor.  What  can  we  expect.? 
Are  men  to  go  unpunished  who  thus  rebel  against  the  Lord's 
Anointed  }  Is  treason,  rank  treason,  the  setting-up  of  a 
pretender  prince  (who  is  now  lying  headless  in  his  coffin) 
as  the  rightful  heir  to  be  forgiven  .''  We  must  not  look  for 
it.  Alas  !  madam,  had  I  been  with  you  instead  of  that 
conceited,  fanatical,  crookback  Humphrey,  whom  I  did 
ever  detest,  none  of  these  things  should  have  happened." 

"Humphrey,"!  said,  "has  more  worth  in  his  fingers 
than  you  in  your  great  body,  Benjamin." 

"  My  dear,  my  dear,  do  not  anger  Benjamin.  Oh,  do  not 
anger  our  only  friend." 

"  She  may  say  what  she  pleases.  My  time  will  come. 
Listen,  then.  They  must  all  be  hanged  unless  I  can  suc- 
ceed in  getting  them  pardoned." 

"  Nay,  but  forgive  my  rudeness,  Benjamin  ;  they  arc  your 
own  cousins  ;  it  is  your  own  grandfather.  What  need  of 
conditions.''  Oh,  what  does  this  mean .?  Are  you  a  man  of 
flesh  and  blood  }  " 

"  My  conditions,  child,  will  assure  you  that  such  is  truly 
the  nature  of  my  composition." 

"  If  money  is  wanted" — I  thought  of  my  bag  of  gold, 
and  of  Mr.  Penne's  hints — "how  much  will  suffice?  " 

"  I  know  not.  If  it  comes  to  buying  them  off,  more  thou- 
sands than  could  be  raised  on  the  Bradford  Orcas  estates. 
Put  money  out  of  mind." 

"Then,  Benjamin,  save  them  if  thou  canst.  ' 

"His  lordship  knows  that  I  have  near  relations  con- 
cerned ill  the  rebellion.  Yet,  he  assured  me,  if  his  own 
brothers  were  among  the  ])ris()ners  he  would  hang  them 
till." 

"Nay,  thez^  Benjamin,  I  say  no  more,      Tell  me  wha\ 


2IO  FOR  FAITH  AXD  FREEDOM. 

are  these  conditions,  and  if  we  can  grant  or  contrive  them, 
we  will  comply."  I  had  no  thought  of  what  was  meant  bj 
his  conditions.  Nor  did  I  even  guess  until  the  morning 
when  madam  told  me.  "  Oh,  madam  is  there  anything  in 
the  world — anything  that  we  would  not  do  to  save  them  ? "' 

Madam  looked  at  me  with  so  much  pity  in  her  eyes  that 
I  wondered.  It  was  pity  for  me,  and  not  for  her  son  thot  1 
read  in  that  look.     Why  did  she  pity  me  ? 

I  understood  not. 

"  My  dear,"  she  said,  "  there  are  times  when  women  arc 
called  upon  to  make  sacrifices  which  they  never  thought  to 
make,  which  seem  impossible  to  be  even  asked." 

"Oh,  there  are  no  sacrifices  which  we  would  not  gladly 
make.  What  can  Benjamin  require  that  we  should  not  glad- 
ly do  for  him  .?  Nay,  he  is  Robin's  cousin,  and  your  nephew, 
and  Sir  Christopher's  grandson.  He  will,  if  need  be,  join 
us  in  making  these  sacrifices." 

"  I  will,"  said  Benjamin.  "I  will  join  you  in  making  that 
sacrifice  with  a  willing  heart. " 

"  I  will  tell  her  to-morrow,"  said  madam.  "  No,  I  can- 
not tell  her  to-night.  Let  us  rest  Go,  sir,  leave  us  to  our 
sorrow.  It  may  be  that  we  may  think  the  sacrifice  too  great 
even  for  the  lives  and  safety  of  those  we  love.  Go,  sir,  for 
to-night,  and  return  to-morrow." 

"  Surely,  child,"  said  madam,  presently,  when  he  was, 
gone  and  we  were  alone,  "  we  are  the  most  unhappy  women 
in  the  world. " 

"Nay,"  I  replied.  "There  have  been  other  women  be- 
fore us  who  have  been  ruined  and  widowed  by  civil  wars 
and  rebellions.  If  it  be  any  comfort  to  think  that  others 
have  suffered  like  ourselves,  then  we  may  comfort  ourselves. 
But  the  thought  brings  no  consolation  to  me." 

' '  Hagar, "  said  madam,  ' '  was  a  miserable  woman  because 
she  was  cast  out  by  the  man  she  loved,  even  the  father  of 
her  son.  Rachel  was  unhappy  until  the  Lord  gave  her  a 
son.  Jephthah's  daughter  was  unhappy,  my  dear  :  there 
is  no  case  except  hers  which  may  be  compared  with  ours, 
and  Jephthah's  daughter  was  happy  in  one  circumstance, 
that  she  was  permitted  to  die.  Ah  !  happy  girl  she  died. 
That  was  all  her  sacrifice,  to  die  for  the  sake  of  her  father. 
But  what  is  ours  "i  " 

So  she  spoke  in  riddles,  or  dark  sayings,  of  which  I  under- 
stood nothing.  Nevertheless,  before  lying  down,  I  did 
solemnly,  and  in  her  presence  and  hearing,  aloud,  upon 
my  knees,  offer  unto  Almighty  God  myself — my   very  life 


FOR  FAiril  AND  FREEDO.^f.  211 

—if  SO  that  Robin  could  be  saved.     And  then,  with  lighter 
heart  than  I  had  known  for  long,  I  lay  down  and  slept. 

At  midnight  or  thereabouts  madam  woke  me  up. 

"Child, "she  said,  "I  cannot  sleep.  Tell  me  truly,  is 
there  nothing  that  thou  wouldst  refuse  for  Robm's  sake?" 

"Nothing,  verily.     Ah,  madam,  can  you  doubt  it  ?  " 
'  Even  if  it  were  a  sacrifice  of  which  he  would   not  ap- 
prove .''  " 

"  Believe  me,  madam,  there  is  nothing  that  I  would  not 
do  for  Robin's  safety." 

"Child,  if  we  were  living  in  the  days  of  persecution 
wouldst  thou  hear  the  mass  and  adopt  the  Catholic  religion 
to  save  thy  lover's  life.?" 

"Oh,  madam,  the  Lord  will  never  try  us  above  our 
strength. " 

"Sleep,  my  child,  sleep.  And  pray  that  as  thy  temp- 
tation, so  may  be  thy  strength." 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

ON    WHAT    CONDITIONS? 

In  the  morning  I  awoke  with  a  lighter  heart  than  I  had 
known  for  a  long  time.  Benjamin  was  going  to  release 
our  prisoner  :  I  should  go  to  meet  Robin  at  the  gate  of  his 
prison  ;  all  would  be  well,  except  that  my  father  would 
never  recover.  We  should  return  to  the  village,  and  every- 
thing should  go  on  as  before.  Oh,  poor  fond  wretch  ! 
How  was  I  deluded,  and  oh,  miserable  day  that  ended 
with  such  shame  and  sadness,  yet  began  with  so  much 
hope. 

Madam  was  already  dressed.  She  was  sitting  at  the  win- 
dow looking  into  the  churchyard.  She  had  been  crying. 
Alas,  how  many  women  in  Somersetshire  were  then  weep- 
ing all  day  long  ! 

"Madam,"  I  said,  "we  now  have  hope.  We  must  not 
weep  and  lament  any  more.  Oh,  to  have  at  least  a  little 
hope,  when  we  have  lived  so  long  in  iles])air,  it  makes  one 
breath  again.  Benjamin  will  save  our  prisoners  for  us. 
Oh,  after  all,  it  is  Benjamin  who  will  help  us.     We  did  not 


iti  FOR  FAITH  AXD  FREEDOM. 

use  to  love  Benjamin  because  he  was  rude  and  masterful, 
and  wanted  everything  for  himself,  and  would  never  give 
up  anything.  Yet,  you  see,  he  had  after  all  a  good  heart" 
• — madam  groaned — "and  he  cannot  forget,  though  he  fol- 
loweth  not  his  grandfather's  opinions,  that  he  is  his  honor's 
grandson — the  son  of  his  only  daughter — ^'and  your  nephew, 
and  first  cousin  to  Robin  and  second  cousin  once  removed 
to  Humphrey  and  Barnaby,  playfellows  of  old.  Why,  these 
are  ties  which  bind  him  as  with  ropes.  He  needs  must 
bestir  himself  to  save  their  lives.  And  since  he  says  that 
he  can  save  them,  of  course  he  must  have  bestirred  him. 
self  to  some  purpose.  Weep  no  more,  dear  madam.  Your 
son  will  be  restored  to  us.  We  shall  be  happy  again,  thanks 
to  Benjamin." 

"  Child, '' she  replied,  "  my  heart  is  broken  ;  it  is  broken, 
I  say.  Oh,  to  be  lying  dead  and  at  peace  m  yonder  church- 
yard !  Never  before  did  I  think  that  it  must  be  a  happy 
thing  to  be  dead  and  at  rest,  and  to  feel  nothing  and  to 
know  nothing. " 

"But,  madam,  the  dead  are  not  in  their  graves  ;  there 
lie  only  the  bodies,  their  souls  are  above." 

"Then  they  still  think  and  reniember.  Oh,  can  a  time 
ever  come  when  things  can  be  forgotten  }  Will  the  dead 
ever  cease  to  reproach  themselves  t  " 

She  wrung  her  hands  m  an  ecstacy  of  grief,  though  I 
knew  not  what  should  move  her  so.  Indeed,  she  was  com- 
monly a  woman  of  sober  and  contained  disposition,  entirely 
governed  both  in  her  temper  and  in  her  words.  What  was 
in  her  mind  that  she  should  accuse  herself.'  Then,  while 
I  was  dressing,  she  went  on  talking,  being  still  full  of  this 
strong  passion. 

"I  shall  have  my  boy  back  again,"  she  said.  "Yes  he 
will  come  back  to  me.  And  what  will  he  say  to  me  when 
I  tell  him  all  }  Yet  I  fnusl  have  him  back.  Oh,  to  think 
of  the  hangman  tymg  the  rope  about  his  neck" — she  shud- 
dered and  trembled — "and  afterwards  the  cruel  knife  " — she 
clasped  her  hands  and  could  not  say  the  words.  "  I  see  the 
comely  limbs  of  my  boy — oh,  the  thought  tears  my  heart- 
it  tears  me  through  and  through  ;  I  cannot  think  of  anything 
else  day  or  night  ;  and  yet  in  the  prison  he  is  so  patient  and 
so  cheerful.  I  marvel  that  men  can  be  so  patient  with  this 
dreadful  death  before  them."  She  broke  out  again  into 
another  passion  of  sobbing  and  crying.  Then  she  became 
calmer  and  tried  to  speak  of  things  less  dreadful. 

"When  first  I  visited  my  boy  in  prison,"  she  said,  "  Hum- 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 


213 


phrey  came  humbly  to  ask  my  pardon.  Poor  lad  !  I  have 
had  hard  thoughts  of  him.  It  is  certain  that  he  was  in  the 
plot  from  the  beginning-.  Yet  had  he  not  gone  so  far,  should 
we  have  sat  down  when  the  rising  began }  But  he  doth  still 
accuse  himself  of  rashness  and  calls  himself  the  cause  of  all 
our  misfortunes.  He  fell  upon  his  knees,  in  the  sight  of  all, 
to  ask  forgiveness,  saying  that  it  was  he  and  none  other  who 
had  brought  ruin  upon  us  all.  Then  Robin  begged  me  to 
raise  him  up  and  comfort  him,  which  I  did,  putting  aside 
my  hard  thoughts  and  telling  him  that  being  such  stubborn 
Protestants  our  lads  could  not  choose  but  join  the  duke 
whether  he  advised  it  or  whether  he  did  not.  Nay,  I  told 
him  that  Robin  would  have  dragged  him  willy-nilly.  And 
so  I  kissed  him,  and  Robin  took  him  by  the  hand  and 
solemnly  assured  him  that  his  grandfather  had  no  such 
thought  in  his  mind." 

"Nay,"  I  said,  "my  father  and  Barnaby  would  certainly 
have  joined  the  duke,  Humphrey  or  not.  Never  were  any 
men  more  eager  for  rebellion." 

"I  have  been  to  London,"  she  went  on.  " 'Tis  a  long 
journey  and  I  effected  nothing,  for  the  mind  of  the  king,  I 
was  assured,  is  harder  than  the  nether  millstone.  My 
brother-in-law  Boscorel  went  with  me,  and  I  left  him  there. 
But  I  have  no  hope  that  he  will  be  able  to  help  us,  his  old 
friends  being  much  scattered  and  many  of  them  dead,  and 
some  hostile  to  the  court  and  in  ill  favor.  So  I  returned, 
seeing  that  if  I  could  not  save  my  son  I  could  be  with  him 
until  he  died.  The  day  before  yesterday  he  was  tried,  if 
you  call  that  a  trial  when  hundreds  together  plead  guilty 
and  are  all  alike  sentenced  to  death." 

"  Have  you  been  home  since  the  trial }  " 

"  I  went  to  the  prison  as  soon  as  they  were  brought  back 
from  court.  Some  of  the  people — for  they  were  all  con- 
demned to  death,  every  one — were  crying  and  lamenting. 
And  there  were  many  women  among  them,  their  wives  or 
their  mothers,  and  these  were  shrieking  and  wringing  their 
hands,  so  that  it  was  a  terrible  spectacle.  But  some  of  the 
men  called  for  drink  and  began  to  carouse,  so  that  they 
might  drown  the  thought  of  impending  death.  My  dear,  I 
never  thought  to  look  upon  a  scene  so  full  of  horror.  As  for 
our  own  boys,  Robin  was  patient  and  even  cheerful,  and 
Humphrey,  leading  us  to  the  most  quiet  spot  in  that  dread- 
ful place,  exhorted  us  to  lose  no  time  in  weejiing  or  vain 
laments,  but  to  cheer  up  and  console  our  hearts  with  the 
thought  that  (ieath,  even  violent  death,  is  but  a  brief  pang, 


214 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 


and  life  is  but  a  short  passage,  and  that  heaven  awaits  us 
beyond.  Humphrey  should  have  been  a  minister,  such  is 
the  natural  piety  and  goodness  of  his  heart.  So  he  spoke  of 
the  happy  meeting  in  that  place  of  blessedness  where  earthly 
love  would  be  purged  of  its  grossness  and  our  souls  shall 
be  so  glorified  that  we  shall  each  admire  the  beauty  of  the 
other.  Then  Robin  talked  of  you,  my  dear,  and  sent  thee  a 
loving  message,  bidding  thee  grieve  for  him,  but  not  with- 
out hope,  and  that  a  sure  and  certain  hope  of  meeting  again. 
There  are  other  things  he  bade  me  tell  thee,  but  now  I  can- 
not— oh,  I  must  not" 

"Nay,  madam,  but  if  they  are  words  that  he  wished  me 
to  hear .? 

"Why,  they  were  of  his  constant  love  and — and — no,  1 
cannot  tell  them." 

"Nay,"  I  said,  "  fret  not  thy  poor  heart  with  thinking  any 
more  of  the  prison,  for  Benjamin  will  surely  save  him,  and 
then  we  shall  love  Benjamin  all  our  lives." 

"  He  will  perhaps  save  him.  And  yet — oh,  how  can  I 
tell  her.? — we  shall  shed  many  more  tears.  How  can  I  tell 
her.?     How  can  I  tell  her.'  " 

So  she  broke  off  again,  but  presently  recovered  and  went 
on  talking.  In  time  of  great  trouble  the  mind  wanders 
backward  and  forward,  and  though  one  talks  still,  it  is  dis- 
jointedly.     So  she  w^ent  back  to  the  prison. 

"The  boys  have  been  well,  though  the  prison  is  full  and 
the  air  is  foul.  Yet  there  hath  been  as  yet  no  fever,  for 
which  they  are  thankful.  At  first  they  had  no  money,  the 
soldiers  who  took  them  prisoners  having  robbed  them  of 
their  money,  and  indeed  stripped  them,  as  well,  to  their 
shirts,  telling  them  that  shirts  were  good  enough  to  be 
hanged  in.  Yet  the  people  of  Exeter  have  treated  the  pri.;- 
oners  with  great  humanity,  bringing  them,  daily,  food  and 
drink,  so  that  there  has  been  nothing  lacking.  The  time, 
however,  doth  hang  upon  their  hands  in  a  place  where  there- 
is  nothing  to  do  all  day  but  to  think  of  the  past  and  to  dread 
the  future.  One  poor  lady,  I  was  told,  hath  gone  distracted 
w^ith  the  terror  of  this  thought.  Child,  every  day  that  I 
visited  my  son,  while  he  talked  with  me,  always  cheerful 
and  smiling,  my  mind  turned  continually  to  the  scaffold  and 
the  gibbet."  Then  she  returned  to  the  old  subject,  from 
which  she  could  in  no  way  escape.  "I  saw  the  hangman. 
I  saw  my  son  hanging  to  the  shameful  tree — oh  !  my  son  ! 
my  son  !- — till  I  could  bear  it  no  longer  and  would  hurry 
away  from  the  prison  jmd  walk  about  the  town  over  the 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  2 1 5 

fields — yea,  all  night  long — to  escape  the  dreadful  thouglit. 
Oh,  to  be  blessed  with  such  a  son  and  to  have  him  torn  from 
my  arms  for  such  a  death.  If  he  had  been  killed  upon  the 
field  of  battle  'twould  have  been  easier  to  bear.  But  now  he 
dier  daily,  he  dies  a  thousand  deaths  in  my  mind.  My  child" 
— she  turned  again  to  the  churchyard — "the  rooks  are  caw- 
ing in  their  nests  ;  the  sparrows  and  the  robins  hop  among 
the  graves  ;  the  dead  hear  nothing  ;  all  their  troubles  are 
over,  all  their  sins  are  forgiven. '' 

I  comforted  her  as  well  as  I  could.  Indeed,  I  understood 
not  at  all  what  she  meant,  thinking  that  perhaps  all  her 
trouble  had  caused  her  to  be  in  that  frame  of  mind  when  a 
woman  doth  not  know  whether  to  laugh  or  to  cry.  And 
then,  taking  my  basket,  I  saUied  forth  to  provide  the  day's 
provisions  for  my  prisoners. 

"  Barnaby, "  I  said,  when  he  came  to  the  wicket,  "  I  have 
good  news  for  thee.'' 

"  What  good  news  }  That  I  am  to  be  flogged  once  a  year 
in  every  market  town  in  Somersetshire,  as  will  happen  to 
young  Tutchin  ?  " 

"No,  no,  not  that  kind  of  news;  but  freedom,  brother, 
hope  for  freedom." 

He  laughed.      "Who  is  to  give  us  freedom?  " 

"  Benjamin  hath  found  a  way  for  the  enlargement  of  all." 

"Ben  Boscorel }  What,  will  he  stir  finger  for  the  sake  of 
anybody  .-*  Then,  Sis,  if  I  remember  Ben  aright,  there  will 
be  something  tor  himself.  But  if  it  is  upon  Ben  that  we  are 
to  rely  we  are  truly  well  sped.     On  Ben,  quotha  ! '' 

"Brother,  he  told  me  so  himself." 

"  'Ware  hawks,  sister.  If  Ben  is  at  one  end  of  the  rope 
and  the  hangman  at  the  other,  I  think  I  know  who  will  be 
stronger.  Well,  child,  believe  Ben  if  thou  wilt.  Thy  father 
looks  strange  this  morning;  he  opened  his  eyes  and  seemed 
to  know  me.  I  wonder  if  there  is  a  change.  'Tis  wonderful 
how  he  lasts.  There  are  six  men  sickened  since  yesterday 
of  the  fever  ;  three  of  them  brought  in  last  week  are  already 
dead.  As  for  the  singing  that  we  used  to  hear,  it  is  all  over, 
and  if  the  men  get  drunk  they  are  dumb  drunk.  Sir  Chris- 
topher looks  but  poorly  this  morning.  I  hope  he  will  not 
take  the  fever.  He  staggered  when  he  arose,  which  is 
a  bad  sign." 

"Tell  mother,  Barnaby,  what  Benjamin  hath  undertaken 
to  do." 

"Nay,  that  shall  I  not,  liecause,  look  you,  I  beliave  it 
not     There  is  some  trick  or  lie  at  the  bottom,  unless  Ben 


8l6  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

hath  repented  and  changed  his  disposition,  which  used  to 
be  two  parts  wolf,  one  part  bear,  and  the  rest  fox.  If  there 
were  anything  left  it  was  serpent.  Well,  sister,  I  am  no 
grumbler,  but  I  expect  this  job  to  be  over  in  a  fortnight  or 
so,  when  they  say  the  Wells  Assizes  will  be  held.  Then  we 
shall  all  be  swinging  ;  and  1  only  hope  that  we  may  carry 
with  us  into  the  court  such  a  breath  ot  jail  fever  as  shall  lay 
the  judge  himself  upon  his  back  and  end  his  days.  In  the 
next  world  he  will  meet  the  men  whom  he  has  sentenced, 
and  it  will  fare  worse  for  him  in  their  hands  than  with  fifty 
thousand  devils." 

So  he  took  a  drink  of  the  beer,  and  departed  within  the 
prison,  and  for  three  weeks  I  saw  him  no  more. 

On  my  way  home  I  met  Benjamin. 

"Hath  madam  told  you  yet  of  my  conditions.?  "  he  asked, 
eagerly. 

"  Not  yet.  She  will  doubtless  tell  me  presently.  Oh, 
what  matter  for  the  conditions.  It  can  only  be  something 
good  for  us,  contrived  by  your  kind  heart.  Ben,  I  have  told 
Barnaby,  who  will  not  believe  in  our  good-fortune." 

"  It  is,  indeed,  something  very  good  for  you,  Alice,  as  you 
will  find.  Come  with  me,  and  walk  in  the  meadows,  be- 
yond the  reach  of  this  doleful  place,  where  the  air  reeks 
with  jail  fever,  and  all  day  long  they  are  reading  the  funeral 
service." 

So  he  led  me  out  upon  the  sloping  sides  of  a  hill,  where 
we  walked  awhile  upon  the  grass  very  pleasantly,  my  mind 
being  now  at  rest. 

"  You  have  heard  of  nothing,"  he  said,  "  of  late,  but  of 
the  rebellion  and  its  consequences.  Let  us  talk  about 
London. 

So  he  discoursed  concerning  his  own  profession  and  his 
prospects,  which,  he  said,  were  better  than  those  of  any 
other  young  lawyer,  in  his  own  opinion.  "  For  my  prac- 
tice,"  he  said,  "I  already  have  one  which  gives  me  an  in- 
come far  beyond  my  wants,  which  are  simple.  Give  me 
plain  fare,  and  for  the  evening  a  bottle  or  two  of  good  wine, 
with  tobacco,  and  friends  who  love  a  cheerful  glass.  I  ask 
no  more.  My  course  lies  clear  before  me  ;  I  shall  become 
a  king's  counsel ;  I  shall  be  made  a  judge  ;  presently  I  shall 
become  lord  chancellor.  What  did  I  tell  thee,  child,  long 
ago?     Well,  that  time  has  now  arrived." 

Still  I  was  so  foolish,  being  so  happy,  tliat  I  could  not 
understand  what  he  meant. 

''I  fim  sure,  Benjamin,'' I   said,   "that  v/c  at  luime  shal.' 


P'OR  FAITH  AXD  FREEDOM. 


17 


ever  rejoice,  and  be  proud  of  your  success.  Nobody  will 
be  more  happy  to  hear  of  it  tlian  Robin  and  I." 

Here  he  turned  very  red,  and  muttered  something. 

"You  find  your  happiness  in  courts  and  clubs  and  Lon- 
don," I  went  on  ;  "as  for  Robin  and  myself,  we  shall  find 
ours  in  the  peaceful  place  which  we  have  always  decided  to 
have. " 

"What  the  devil — "  he  cried  ;  "  hath  she  not  told  you  the 
condition  }  She  came  with  me  for  no  other  purpose.  I 
have  borne  with  her  company  all  the  way  from  Exeter  for 
this  only.  Go  back  to  her,  and  ask  what  it  is.  Go  back,  I 
say,  and  make  her  tell.  What,  am  I  to  take  all  this  trouble 
for  nothing }  " 

His  face  was  purple  with  sudden  rage.  His  eyes  were 
fierce,  and  he  roared  and  bawled  at  me.  Why,  what  had 
I  said?     How  had  I  angered  him.? 

"Benjamin,"!  cried,  "  what  is  the  matter.?  How  have 
I  angered  you  ?  " 

"Go  back,"  he  roared  again.  "Tell  her  that  if  I  pres- 
ently come  and  find  thee  still  in  ignorance  'twill  be  the  worse 
for  all.     Tell  her  that  I  say  it ;  'twill  else  be  worse  for  all." 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

A  SLIGHT  THING  AT  THE  BEST 

So  I  left  Benjamin  much  frightened,  and  marvelling  both 
at  his  violent  passion  and  at  the  message  which  he  sent  to 
madam. 

She  was  waiting  for  me  at  the  lodging. 

"Madam,"  I  said,  "I  have  seen  Benjamin.  He  is  very 
angry.  He  bade  me  go  home  and  ask  you  concerning  his 
conditions.  We  must  not  anger  our  best  friend,  dear 
madam." 

She  rose  from  her  chair  and  beg-an  to  walk  about  wring-- 
mg  her  hands,  as  if  torn  by  some  violent  emotion. 

"Oh,  my  child!"  she  cried;  "Grace,  come  to  my  arms 
■ — if  it  is  for  the  last  time — my  daughter  1  IMore  then  ever 
mine,  though  I  must  never  call  thee  daughter."  She  held 
me  in  her  arms,  kissing  mo  tenderly.     "  IMy  dear,  we  agreed 


2  1 8  i-OK  J-AIJ'II  AA'D  FREEDOM. 

that  no  sacrifice  is  too  great  for  the  safety  of  our  boy.  Yes, 
we  ag-reed  to  that.  Let  us  kiss  each  other  before  we  do  a 
thing-  after  which  we  can  never  kiss  each  other  again.  No, 
never  again.  ' 

"Why  not  again,  madam  .''  " 

"Oh!" — she  pushed  me  from  her — "  it  is  now  eight  oi 
the  clock.  He  will  be  here  at  ten.  I  promised  I  would  tell 
thee  before  he  came.     And  all  is  in  readiness." 

' '  For  what,  madam  }  " 

Why,  even  then  I  guessed  not  her  meaning,  though  I 
might  have  done  so  ;  but  I  never  thought  that  so  great  a 
wickedness  was  possible. 

"  No  sacrifice  should  be  too  greatfor  us,"  she  cried,  clasp- 
ing her  head  with  her  hands,  and  looking  wildly  about; 
"none  too  great  Not  even  the  sacrifice  of  my  own  son's 
love  ;  no,  not  that  W'hy,  let  us  think  of  the  sacrifices  men 
make  for  their  country,  for  their  religion.  Abraham  was 
ready  to  offer  his  son  Isaac  ;  Jephthah  sacrificed  his  daugh- 
ter ;  King  ^lesha  slew  his  eldest  son  for  a  burnt-offering. 
Thousands  of  men  die  every  year  in  battle  for  their  country. 
What  have  we  to  offer.''  If  we  give  ourselves  it  is  but  a 
slight  thing  that  we  offer,  at  the  best " 

"Surely,  madam,"  I  cried,  "you  know  that  we  would 
willingly  die  for  the  sake  of  Robin." 

"  Yes,  child,  to  die  to  die — were  nothing.  It  is  to  live — 
we  must  live  for  Robin." 

"  I  understand  not  madam." 

"  Listen,  then,  for  the  time  presses  ;  and  if  he  arrived  and 
find  that  I  have  not  broken  the  thing  to  thee  he  will  perhaps 
ride  back  to  Exeter  in  a  rage.  When  I  left  my  son,  after  the 
trial,  being  very  wretched  and  without  hope,  I  found  Ben- 
jamin waitin-j  for  me  at  the  prison  gates.  He  walked  with 
me  to  my  lodging,  and  on  the  way  he  talked  of  what  w^as 
in  my  mind.  First  he  said  that  for  the  better  sort,  there 
was  little  hope,  seeing  that  the  king  was  revengeful  and  the 
judge  most  wrathful,  and  in  a  mood  which  allowed  of  no 
mercy.  Therefore  it  would  be  best  to  dismiss  all  hopes  of 
]iardon  or  of  safety  either  to  these  two  or  to  the  prisoners  of 
Jlminster.  Now,  when  he  had  said  this  a  great  many  times, 
we  being  now  arrived  at  my  lodging,  he  told  me  that  there 
was,  in  my  case,  a  way  out  of  the  trouble,  and  one  way 
only  ;  that  if  we  consented  to  follow  that  way,  which,  he 
said,  would  do  no  manner  of  harm  to  either  of  us  or  to  our 
prisoners,  he  would  undertake,  and  faithfully  engage  to 
secure,  the   safety  of  all  our  prisoners.      I   prayed   him  to 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 


219 


point  out  this  way,  and  after  much  entreaty  he  consented." 

"  What  is  the  way  ?  "  I  asked,  having  not  the  least  sus- 
picion. And  yet  the  look  in  her  eyes  should  have  told  me 
what  was  coming-. 

"  Is  it  true,  child,  that  long  ago  you  were  betrothed  to 
Benjamin  } 

"No,  madam.      That  is  most  untrue." 

"  He  says  that,  when  you  were  quite  a  little  child,  he  in- 
formed you  of  his  intention  to  marry  you,  and  none  but  you.  " 

"Why,  that  is  true,  indeed."  And  now  I  began  to  under- 
stand the  way  that  was  proposed,  and  my  heart  sank  within 
me.  "  That  is  true.  But  to  tell  a  child  such  a  thing  is  not 
a  betrothal. " 

"  He  says  that  only  three  or  four  years  ago  he  renewed 
that  assurance." 

"So  he  did,  but  I  gave  him  no  manner  of  encourage- 
ment." 

"  He  says  that  he  promised  to  return  and  marry  you  when 
he  had  arrived  at  some  practice,  and  that  he  engaged  to  be- 
come lord  chancellor,  and  make  you  a  peeress  of  the  realm." 

"  All  that  he  said,  and  more,  yet  did  I  never  give  him  the 
least  encouragement,  but  quite  the  contrary,  for  always  have 
I  feared  and  disliked  Benjamin.  Never  at  any  time  was  it 
possible  for  me  to  think  of  him  in  that  way.  That  hr 
knows,  and  cannot  pretend  otherwise.  Madam,  doth  Ben- 
jamin wish  evil  to  Robin  because  I  am  betrothed  to  him  } 

"  He  also  says,  in  his  rude  way — Benjamin  was  always 
a  rude  and  coarse  boy — that  he  had  warned  you  long  ago 
that  if  any  one  else  came  in  his  way  he  would  break  the 
head  of  that  man." 

"  Yes,  I  remember  that  he  threatened  some  violence." 

"My  dear," — madam  took  my  hand — "his  time  of  re- 
venge is  come.  He  says  that  he  has  the  life  of  the  mai. 
whom  you  love  in  his  own  hands,  and  he  will,  he  swears, 
break  his  head  for  him,  and  so  keep  the  promise  made  to 
you  by  tying  the  rope  round  his  neck.  My  dear,  Benjamin 
has  always  been  stubborn  and  obstinate  from  his  birth.  Stul)- 
born  and  obstinate  was  he  as  a  boy  ;  stubborn  and  obstinatt- 
is  he  now  ;  he  cares  for  nobody  in  the  world  except  himself; 
he  has  no  heart,  he  has  no  tenderness,  he  has  no  scruples  ; 
if  he  wants  a  thing  he  will  trample  on  all  the  world  to  gel 
it,  and  break  all  the  laws  of  God.  I  know  what  manner  ol 
life  he  leads.  He  is  the  friend  and  companion  of  the  dread- 
ful judge  who  goeth  about  like  a  raging  lion.  Kvery  night 
ilo  Ihc}'  drink  together  until  they  are  speechless,  and  cannot 


220  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

stand.  Their  delight  it  is  to  drink  and  smoke  tobacco,  with 
unseemly  jests  and  ribald  songs  which  would  disgrace  the 
play-house  or  the  country  fair.  Oh,  'tis  the  life  of  a  hog 
that  he  delights  in.  Yet  for  all  that  he  is,  like  his  noble 
friend,  full  of  ambition.  Nothing  will  do  but  he  must  rise 
in  the  world.  Therefore  he  works  hard  at  his  profession. 
and—" 

"  Madam,  the  condition — what  is  the  condition  }  P^): 
Heaven's  sake,  tell  me  quickly.  Is  it — is  it — oh,  no,  no, 
no  1     Anything  but  that." 

"  My  child  !  my  daughter  !  " — she  laid  her  hand  upon 
/ny  head — "  it  is  that  condition  ;  that,  and  none  other.  Oh, 
my  dear,  it  is  laid  upon  thee  to  save  us  ;  it  is  to  be  thy  work 
alone  ;  and  by  such  a  sacrifice  as,  I  think,  no  woman  ever 
yet  had  to  make.  Nay,  perhaps  it  is  better  not  to  make  it, 
after  all.  Let  all  die  together,  and  let  us  live  out  our  allotted 
lives  in  sorrow.  I  thought  of  it  all  night,  and  it  seemed 
better  so  ;  better  even  that  thou  wert  lying  in  thy  graA^e. 
His  condition  !  Oh,  he  must  be  a  devil  thus  to  barter  for  the 
lives  of  his  grandfather  and  his  cousins  ;  no  human  being, 
surely,  would  do  such  a  thing.  The  condition,  my  dear  is, 
that  thou  must  marry  him,  now,  this  very  morning  ;  and,  this 
once  done,  he  will  at  once  take  such  steps — I  know  not 
what  they  may  be,  but  I  take  it  that  his  friend,  the  judge, 
will  grant  him  the  favor — such  steps,  I  say,  as  well  release 
unto  us  all  our  prisoners." 

At  tirst  I  made  no  answer. 

"  If  not,''  she  added,  after  a  while,  "  they  shall  all  be 
surely  hanged." 

I  remained  silent.  It  is  not  easy,  at  such  a  moment,  to 
collect  one's  thoughts  and  understand  what  things  mean.  1 
asked  her,  presently,  if  there  was  no  other  way. 

"  None,"  she  said  ;  there  was  no  other  way. 

"  What  shall  I  do  .?  what  shall  I  do  .?  "  I  asked.  "God,  it 
seems,  hath  granted  my  daily  prayer.  But  how  ?  Oh, 
what  shall  I  do  .''  " 

"  Think  of  what  thou  hast  in  thy  power." 

"  But  to  marry  him  ;  to  marry  Benjamin.  Oh,  to  marry 
him  !  How  should  I  live  1  How  should  I  look  the  world 
in  the  face  }  " 

"  My  dear,  there  are  many  other  unhappy  wives.  There 
are  other  husbands  brutal  and  selfish  ;  there  are  other  men 
as  wicked  as  my  nephew.  Thou  wilt  swear  in  church  to 
love,  honor,  and  obey  him.  Thy  love  is  already  hate;  thy 
honor  is  contempt  ;  thy  obedience  will  be  the  obedience  of 


POR  FAITH  AJVD  FRJLEDOM.  22 1 

a  slave.      Y&t  death  cometh  at  length,  even  to  a  slave  and 
to  the  harsh  taskmaster." 

"  Oh,  madam,  miserable  indeed  is  the  lot  of  those  whose 
only  friend  is  death." 

She  was  silent,  leaving  me  to  think  of  this  terrible  con- 
dition. 

"  What  would  Robin  say  .?  What  would  Humphrey  say  .? 
Nay,  what  would  his  honor  himself  say  .?  " 

"Why,  child,"  she  replied,  with  a  kind  of  laugh,  "it 
needs  not  a  wizard  to  tell  what  they  would  say.  For  one 
and  all,  they  would  rather  go  to  the  gallows  than  buy  their 
lives  at  such  a  price.  Thy  brother  Barnaby  would  mount 
the  ladder  with  a  cheerful  heart  rather  than  sell  his  sister  to 
buy  his  life.  That  we  know  already.  Nay,  we  know 
more.  For  Robin  will  never  forgive  his  mother  who  suf- 
fered thee  to  do  such  a  thing.  So  shall  I  lose  what  I  value 
more  than  life — the  love  of  my  only  son.  Yet  would  I  buy 
his  life  at  such  a  price.  My  dear,  if  you  love  your  lover  I 
lose  my  son.  Yet  we  will  save  him  whether  he  will  or  no." 
She  took  my  hands  and  pressed  them  in  her  own.  "My 
dear,  it  will  be  worse  for  me  than  for  you.  You  will  have 
a  husband,  it  is  true,  whom  you  will  loathe  ;  yet  you  will 
not  see  him,  perhaps,  for  half  the  day  at  least,  and  perhaps 
he  will  leave  thee  to  thyself  for  the  other  half.  But  for  me, 
I  shall  have  to  endure  the  loss  of  my  son's  affections  all 
my  life,  because  I  am  very  sure  and  certain  that  he  can 
never  forgive  me.  Think,  my  dear. — Shall  they  all  die — 
all  ;  think  of  father  and  brother  and  of  your  mother;  or  will 
you  willingly  endure  a  life  of  misery  with  this  man  for 
husband  in  order  that  they  may  live  ?  " 

' '  Oh,  madam, "  I  said.  ' '  as  for  the  misery,  any  other  kind 
of  misery  I  would  willingly  endure  ;  but  it  is  marriage — 
marriage.  Yet  who  am  I  that  I  should  choose  my  sacri- 
rice  .''  Oh,  if  good  works  were  of  any  avail,  then  would  the 
way  to  heaven  be  opened  wide  for  me  by  such  an  act  and 
such  a  life.  Oh,  what  will  Robin  say  of  me  ?  What  will 
he  think  of  me  ?  Will  he  curse  me  and  loathe  me  for  being 
able  to  this  thing?  Should  I  do  it.?  Is  it  right?  Doth 
God  command  it  ?  Yet  to  save  their  dear  lives  ;  only  to 
set  them  free  ;  to  send  that  good  old  man  back  to  his  home  ; 
to  suffer  my  father  to  die  in  peace.  I  must  do  it — I  must 
do  it.  Yet  Robin  could  never  forgive  me.  Oh,  he  told  me 
that  betrothal  was  a  sacrament.  I  have  sworn  to  be  his. 
Yet  to  save  kis  life — I  cannot  hesitate.  If  it  is  wrong,  I 
pray  that  Robin  will  forgive  mc.     Tell  him  that — oh,  tell 


22  2  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

him  that  it  is  I  who  am  to  die,  instead  of  him.  Perhaps 
God  will  suffer  me  to  die  quickly.  Tell  him  that  I  loA'ed  him 
and  only  him  ;  that  I  would  rather  have  died  ;  that  for  his 
life  alone  I  would  not  have  done  this  thing  because  he  would 
not  have  suffered  it.  But  it  is  for  all — it  is  for  all.  Oh,  he 
must  forgive  me.  Some  day  you  will  send  me  a  message 
5)f  forgiveness  from  him.  But  I  must  go  away  and  live  in 
London  far  from  all  of  you,  never  to  see  him  or  any  one  of 
you  again,  not  even  my  own  mother.  It  is  too  shameful  a 
thing  to  do.  And  you  will  tell  his  honor,  who  hath  always 
loved  me,  and  would  willingly  have  called  me  his  grand- 
daughter. It  was  not  that  I  loved  not  Robin — God  knoweth 
that — but  for  all — for  him  and  Robm  and  all — to  save  his 
gray  hairs  from  the  gallows,  and  to  send  him  back  to  his 
home.     Oh,  tell  him  that — " 

"My  dear,  my  dear,"'  she  replied,  but  could  say  no  more. 

Then  for  a  while  we  sat  in  silence  with  beating  hearts. 

"  I  am  to  purchase  the  lives  of  five  honest  men,"  I  said, 
presently,  "by  my  own  dishonor.  I  know  very  M'ell  that 
it  is  by  my  dishonor  and  my  sin  that  their  lives  are  to  be 
bought.  It  doth  not  save  me  from  dishonor  that  I  am  first 
to  stand  in  the  church  and  be  married  according  to  the 
Prayer  Book.  Nay,  does  it  not  make  the  sin  greater  and 
the  dishonor  more  certain,  that  I  shall  first  swear  what  I 
cannot  ever  perform,  to  love  and  honor  that  man  ?" 

"Yes,  girl,  yes,"  said  madam;  "but  the  sin  is  mine 
more  than  yours.      Oh,  let  me  bear  the  sin  upon  myself." 

"  You  cannot  ;  it  is  my  sin  and  my  dishonor.  Nay,  it  is 
a  most  dreadful  wicked  thing  that  I  am  to  do.  It  is  all  the 
sins  in  one.  I  do  not  honor  my  parents  in  thus  dishonor- 
ing myself  ,  I  kill  myself — the  woman  that  my  Robin 
loved.  I  steal  the  outward  form  which  belonged  to  Robin 
and  give  it  to  another.  I  live  in  a  kind  of  adultery.  It  is 
truly  a  terrible  sin  in  the  sight  of  Heaven.  Yet  I  will  do 
it.  I  must  do  it.  I  love  him  so  that  I  cannot  let  him  die. 
Rather  let  me  be  overwhelmed  with  shame  and  reproach  if 
only  he  can  live  !  " 

"  Said  I  not,  my  dear,  that  we  two  could  never  kiss  each 
other  ao^ain  }  When  two  men  have  conspired  together  to 
commit  a  crime  they  consort  no  more  together,  it  is  said, 
but  go  apart  and  loathe  each  other.      So  it  is  now  with  us." 

So  I  promised  to  do  this  thing.  The  temptation  was  be- 
yond my  strength.  Yet  had  I  possessed  more  faith  I  should 
have  refused.  And  then  great  indeed  would  have  been  my 
reward.     Alas  1     How   was    I   punished    for  my  want  of 


POR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 


223 


faith  !  Well,  it  was  to  save  my  lover.  Love  makes  us 
strong  for  evil  as  well  as  strong  for  good. 

And  all  the  time  to  think  that  we  never  inquired  or  proved 
his  promises  !  To  think  that  we  never  thought  of  doubting 
or.  of  asking  how  he,  a  young  barrister,  should  be  able  to 
save  the  lives  of  four  active  rebels,  and  one  who  had  been 
zealous  in  the  cause  }  That  two  women  should  have  been 
so  simple  is  now  astonishing. 

When  the  clock  struck  ten  I  saw  Benjamm  walking  across 
the  churchyard.  It  was  part  of  the  brutal  nature  of  the  man 
that  he  should  walk  upon  the  graves,  even  those  newly 
made  and  not  covered  up  with  turf  He  swung  his  great 
burly  form,  and  looked  up  at  the  window  with  a  grin  which 
made  madam  tremble  and  shrink  back.  But  for  me  I  was 
not  moved  by  the  sight  of  him,  for  now  I  was  strong  in 
resolution.  Suppose  one  who  hath  made  up  her  mind  to 
go  to  the  stake  for  her  religion,  as  would  doubtless  have 
happened  unto  many  had  King  James  been  allowed  to 
continue  in  his  course,  do  you  think  that  such  a  woman 
would  begin  to  tremble  at  the  sight  of  her  executioner.' 
Not  so.  She  would  arise  and  go  forth  to  meet  him  with 
pale  face,  perhaps  (because  the  agony  is  sharp"),  but  with  a 
steady  eye.  Benjamin  opened  the  door  and  stood  looking 
from  one  to  the  other. 

"  Well,"  he  said  to  madam,  roughly,  "you  have  by  this 
time  told  her  the  condition." 

"I  have  told  her.  Alas  !  I  have  told  her,  and  already  I 
repent  me  that  I  have  told  her." 

"  Doth  she  consent  ?  " 

"She  does.     It  shall  be  as  you  desire." 

'■Ha!"  Benjamin  drew  a  long  breath.  "Said  I  not, 
sweetheart,"  he  turnea  to  me,  "that  I  would  break  the 
head  of  any  who  came  between  us.?  What!  Have  I  not 
broken  the  head  of  my  cousin  when  I  take  away  his  girl? 
Very  well,  then.  hx\(S.  that  to  good  purpose.  Very  well, 
then.      It  remains  to  carry  out  the  condition." 

"The  condition,"  I  said,  "  I  understand  to  be  this.  If  I 
become  your  wife,  Benjamin,  you  knowing  full  well  that  I 
love  another  man,  and  am  already  promised  to  him — " 

"Ta,  ta,  ta,"  he  said.  "  That  you  are  promised  to  an- 
other man  matters  not  one  straw.  That  you  love  another 
man  I  care  nothing.  What?  I  promise,  sweetheart,  that 
I  will  soon  make  thee  forget  that  other  man.  And  as  for 
loving  any  other  man  after  marrying  me,  that,  d'ye  see,  my 


2  24  ^^^  FAITH  A.VD  FREEDOM. 

pretiy,  will  be  impossible.     Oh,  thou  shalt  be   the  fondest 
wife  in  the  Three  Kingdoms." 

"  Nay,  if  such  a  thing  cannot  move  your  heart,  I  say  no 
more.  If  I  marry  you,  then  all  our  prisoners  will  be  en- 
larged ? " 

"I  swear" — he  used  a  great  round  oath,  very  horrid 
from  the  lips  of  a  Christian  man — "I  swear  that  if  you 
marry  me,  the  three,  Robin,  Humphrey,  and  Barnaby  shall 
all  save  their  lives.  And  as  for  Sir  Christopher  and  your 
father,  they  also  shall  be  enlarged.  Can  I  say  aught  in 
addition  .?  " 

I  suspected  no  deceit.  I  understood,  and  so  did  madam, 
that  this  promise  meant  the  full  and  free  forgiveness  of  all. 
Yet  there  was  something  of  mockery  in  his  eyes  which 
should  have  made  us  suspicious  ;  but  I,  for  one,  was  young 
and  ignorant,  and  madam  was  country-bied  and  truthful. 

"Benjamin,"  I  cried,  falling  on  my  knees  before  him, 
"  think  what  it  is  you  ask  !  think  what  a  wicked  thing  you 
would  have  me  do  !  To  break  my  vows,  who  am  promised 
to  your  cousin  !  and  would  you  leave  your  grandfather  to 
perish  all  for  a  whim  about  a  silly  girl .?  Benjamin,  you  are 
playing  with  us.  You  cannot,  you  could  not  sell  the  lives, 
the  very  lives  of  your  mother,  father,  and  your  cousins  for 
such  a  price  as  this  !  The  play  has  gone  far  enough,  Ben- 
jamin. Tell  us  that  it  is  over,  and  that  you  never  meant 
to  be  taken  seriously.  And  we  will  forgive  you  the  an- 
guish you  have  caused  us." 

"Get  up,"  he  said,  "get  up,  I  say,  and  stop  this  folly." 
He  then  began  to  curse  and  to  swear.  "Playing,  is  it? 
You  shall  quickly  discover  that  it  is  no  play,  but  serious 
enough  to  please  you  all,  Puritans  though  you  be.  Playing  ! 
Get  up,  I  say,  and  have  done." 

"  Then,"  I  said,  "  there  is  not  in  the  whole  world  a  more 
inhuman  monster  than  yourself." 

"Oh,  my  dear,  my  dear,  do  not  anger  him,"  cried 
madam. 

"All  is  fair  in  love,  my  pretty,"  said  Benjamin,  with  a 
grin.  "Before  marriage  call  me  what  you  please — inhu- 
man monster — anything  that  you  please.  After  marriage 
my  wife  will  have  to  sing  a  different  tune." 

"  Oh,  Benjamin,  treat  her  kindly,"  madam  cried. 

"  I  mean  not  otherwise.  Kmdness  is  my  nature  ;  I  am 
too  kind  for  my  own  interests.  Obedience  I  expect,  and 
good  temper  and  a  civil  tongue,  with  such  respect  as  is  due 
to  one  who  intends  to  be  lord  chancellor.     Come  child,  no 


FOR  FAITH  AXD  FREEDOM. 


22^ 


more  hard  words.  Thou  shalt  be  the  happiest  woman,  i 
say,  in  the  world.  What  ?  Monmouth's  rebellion  was  only 
contrived  to  make  thy  happiness.  Instead  of  a  dull  coun- 
try-house thou  shalt  have  a  house  in  London  ;  instead  of 
the  meadows  thou  shalt  have  the  parks  ;  instead  of  skv- 
larks,  the  singers  at  the  play-house ;  in  due  course  thou 
shalt  be  my  lady — " 

"Oh,  stop,  stop!  I  must  marry  you  since  you  make 
me,  but  the  partner  in  your  ambitions  will  I  never  be.' 

"My  dear,"  madam  whispered,  "speak  him  fair.  Be 
humble  to  him.  Remember  he  holds  in  his  hand  the  liv^s 
of  all." 

"  Yes  " — Benjamin  overheard  her — "the  lives  of  all.  The 
man  who  dares  to  take  my  girl  from  me — mine — deserves 
to  die.  Yet  so  clement,  so  forgiving,  so  generous  am  I, 
that  I  am  ready  to  pardon  him.  He  shall  actually  save  his 
life.  If,  therefore,  it  is  true  that  (before  marriage)  you  love 
that  man  and  are  promised  to  him,  come  to  church  with  me 
out  of  your  great  love  to  him  in  order  to  save  his  life.  But 
if  you  love  him  not,  then  you  can  love  me,  and  therefore 
can  come  to  please  yourself.  Willy-nilly — what.-*  am  I  to 
be  thwarted  in  such  a  trifle.?  Willy-nilly,  I  say,  I  will  marry 
thee.      Come,  we  waste  the  time." 

He  seized  my  wrist  as  if  he  would  have  dragged  me  to- 
wards the  door. 

"Benjamin,"  cried  madam,  "be  merciful.  She  is  but  a 
girl,  and  she  loves  my  poor  boy.  Be  merciful.  Oh,  it  is 
not  yet  too  late."  She  snatched  me  from  his  grasp  and  stood 
between  us — her  arms  outstretched.  "It  is  not  too  late. 
They  may  die  and  we  will  go  in  sorrow,  but  not  in  shame. 
They  may  die.  Go,  murderer  of  thy  kith  and  kin.  Go, 
send  thy  grandfather  to  die  upon  the  scaffold,  but  at  least 
leave  us  in  peace." 

"No,  madam,"  I  said.  "With  your  permission,  if  there 
be  no  other  way,  I  will  save  their  lives." 

"Well,  then,"  Benjamin  said,  sulkily,  "there  must  be  an 
end  of  this  talk  and  no  further  delay.  Else,  by  the  Lord,  I 
know  not  what  may  happen.  Will  Tom  Boilman  delay  to 
prepare  his  caldron  of  hot  pitch  ?  If  we  wait  much  longer 
Robin's  arms  and  legs  will  be  seething  in  that  broth.  Doth 
the  judge  delay  with  his  warrant.?  Already  he  signs  it.  Al- 
ready they  are  putting  up  the  gibbet  on  which  he  will  hang. 
Come,  I  say." 

Benjamin   was  sure  of  his  prcv,  1  suppose,  because  we 

IS 


2  26  FOR  FAITH  AXD  FREEDOM. 

found  the  clergyman  waiting  for  us  in  the  church,  ready  with 
surplice  and  book.  The  clerk  was  standing  beside  him, 
also  with  his  book,  open  at  the  service  for  marriage.  While 
they  read  the  service  madam  threw  herself  prostrate  on  the 
communion  steps,  her  head  in  her  hands,  as  one  who  suffers 
the  last  extremeties  of  remorse  and  despair  for  sin  too  griev- 
ous to  be  ever  forgiven.  Let  us  hope  that  sometimes  wc 
may  judge  ourselves  more  harshhMhan  Heaven  itselt  dotli 
judge  us. 

The  clerk  gave  me  away,  and  was  the  only  witness  of  th^i 
marriage  besides  that  poor  distracted  mother. 

'Twas  a  strange  wedding.  There  had  been  no  banns  put 
up  ;  the  bride  was  pale  and  trembling  ;  the  bridegroom  was 
gloomy  ;  the  only  other  person  present  wept  upon  her 
knees,  while  the  parson  read  through  his  ordered  prayer 
and  psalm  and  exhortation  ;  there  was  no  sign  of  rejoic- 
ing. 

"  So,"  said  Benjamin,  when  all  was  over.  "Now,  thou  art 
my  wife.  They  shall  not  be  hanged  therefore.  Come, 
wife,  we  will  this  day  ride  to  Exeter,  where  thou  shalt  thy- 
self bear  the  joyful  news  of  thy  marriage  and  their  safety 
to  my  cousins.  They  will  own  that  1  am  a  loving  and 
a  careful  cousin." 

He  led  me,  thus  talking  out  of  church.  Now,  as  we  left 
the  churchyard  there  passed  through  the  gates — oh,  baleful 
omen  ! — four  men  carrying  between  them  a  bier  ;  upon  it 
was  the  body  of  another  poor  prisoner  dead  of  jail  fever.  I 
think  that  even  the  hard  heart  of  Benjamin — now  my  hus- 
band !  oh,  merciful  Heavens,  he  was  my  husband — quailed, 
and  was  touched  with  fear  at  meeting  this  most  sure  and 
certain  sign  of  coming  woe,  for  he  muttered  something  in 
his  teeth,  and  cursed  the  bearers  aloud  for  not  choosing 
another  time. 

My  husband  then — -1  must  needs  call  him  my  husband — 
told  me  brutally  that  I  must  ride  with  him  to  Exeter,  v\'here 
I  should  myself  bear  the  joyful  news  of  their  safety  to  his 
cousins.  I  did  not  take  that  journey,  nor  did  I  bear  the 
news,  nor  did  I  ever  after  that  moment  set  eyes  upon 
him  again  ;  nor  did  I  ever  speak  to  him  again.  His  wife 
1  remained,  I  suppose,  because  I  was  joined  to  him  in 
church.  But  I  never  saw  him  after  that  morning,  and  the 
reason  why  you  shall  now  hear. 

At  the  door  of  our  lodging,  whi.h  was,  you  know,  hard 
by  the  church,  stood  Mr.  Boscorel  himself. 

"What  means  this?  "  he  asked,  with  looks  troubled  and 


FOR  FAITH  AXD  FREEDOM. 


227 


confused.      "What   doth  it  mean,    Benjamin?     What   hath 
happened,  in  the  name  of  God  ?  " 

"Sir,"  said  Benjamin,  "you  know  my  character.  Vou 
will  acknowledge  that  I  am  not  one  of  those  who  are  easily 
turned  from  their  purpose.  Truly,  the  occasion  is  not 
favorable  for  a  wedding,  but  yet  I  present  to  you  my  newly 
married  wife.  ' 

"Thy  wife,  child!  he  thy  husband.?  Why,  thou  art 
betro.thed  to  Robin!  Hath  the  world  gone  crazy?  Do  I 
hear  aright  ?  Is  this — this — this — a  time  to  be  marrying  ? 
Hast  thou  not  heard  I — hast  thou  not  heard,  I  say  ?  " 

"Brother-in-law,"  said  madam,  "it  is  to  save  the  lives  of 
all  that  this  is  done." 

"To  save  the  lives  of  all?"  IMr.  Boscorel  repeated. 
"Why — why — hath  not  Benjamin,  then,  told  what  hath 
happened,  and  what  hath  been  done  ?  " 

"No,  sir,  I  have  not,"  said  his  son;  "  I  had  other  fish  to 
fry." 

"  Not  told  them  ?     Is  it  possible  ?  " 

"  Benjamin  hath  promised  to  save  all  their  lives  if  this 
child  would  marry  him.  To  save  their  lives  hath  Grace 
consented,  and  I  with  her.  He  will  save  them  through  his 
great  friendship  with  Judge  Jeffreys." 

"  Benjamin  to  save  their  lives!  Sirrah,"  he  returned  to 
his  son  with  great  wrathin  his  face,  "  what  villainy  is  this  ? 
Thou  hast  promised  to  save  their  lives  ?  What  villainy,  I 
say,  is  this  ?  Sister-in-law,  did  he  not  tell  you  what  hath 
been  done  !  " 

"  He  has  told  us  nothing.      Oh,  is  there  new  misery  ?  " 

"Child" — Mr.  Boscorel  spoke  with  the  tears  running 
down  his  cheeks — "thou  art  betrayed,  alas  I  most  cruelly 
and  foully  betrayed.  !My  son — would  to  God  that  I  had 
died  before  that  I  should  say  so  ! — is  a  villain.  For,  first, 
the  lives  of  these  young  men  are  already  saved,  and  he  hath 
known  it  for  a  week  and  more.  Learn,  then,  that  with  the 
help  of  certain  friends  I  have  used  such  interest  at  court  that 
for  these  three  I  have  received  the  promise  of  safety.  Yet 
they  will  not  be  pardoned.  They  are  given,  among  other 
prisoners,  to  the  courtiers  and  the  ladies-in-waiting.  One 
Mr.  Jerome  Nipho  hath  received  and  entered  on  his  list  the 
names  of  Robin  and  Humphrey  Challis  and  Barnaby  Kykin  ; 
they  will  be  sold  by  him  and  transported  to  Jamaica,  or 
elsewhere,  for  a  term  of  years. " 

"  They  were  already  saved  !  "  cried  madam.  "  He  knew, 
then,  when   they  were  tried  and  sentenced  that  their  lives 


228  I'Ok  FAITJI  AND  FREEDOM. 

were  already  spared  ?  Oh,  child  !  poor  child  !  oh,  Grace  1 
oh,  my  daughter !  what  misery  have  we  brought  upon 
thee  ! '' 

Benjamin  said  nothing.  On  his  face  lay  a  sullen  scowl 
of  obstinacy.  As  for  me,  I  was  clinging  to  madam's  arm. 
This  man  was  my  husband,  and  Robin  was  already  saved  ; 
and  by  lies  and  villainy  he  had  cheated  us. 

"They  were  already  saved,"  Mr.  Boscorel  continued. 
•'  Benjamin  knew  it.  I  sent  him  a  letter  that  he  might  teH 
his  cousins.  My  son — alas  1  I  say  again — my  only  son — 
my  only  son — my  son  is  a  villain  !  " 

"  No  one  shall  take  my  girl,"  said  Benjamin.  "What? 
A.11  is  fair  in  love." 

"  He  has  not  told  you  either  what  hath  happened  in  the 
prison  ?  Thou  hadst  speech  I  hear  with  Barnaby,  early  this 
morning,  child  }  The  other  prisoners  " — he  lowered  his 
voice,  and  folded  his  hands,  as  in  prayer — "they  have 
since  been  enlarged." 

"  How  .'*  "  madam  asked  ;   "is  Sir  Christopher  free  }  " 

"He  hath  received  his  freedom  from  One  who  neverfails 
to  set  poor  prisoners  free.  JNIy  father-in-law  fell  dead  in  the 
courtyard  at  nine  o'clock  this  morning  ;  weep  not  for  him, 
But,  child,  there  is  much  more  ;  about  that  same  time  thy 
father  breathed  his  last  He,  too,  is  dead.  He,  too,  hath 
his  freedom.  Benjamin  knew  of  this  as  well,  Alice,  my 
child  ;  "  the  kindly  tears  of  compassion  rolled  down  his 
face.  "  I  have  loved  thee  always,  my  dear;  and  it  is  my 
son  who  hath  wrought  this  wickedness — my  own  son — my 
only  son — "  He  shook  his  cane  in  Benjamin's  face.  "Oh, 
villain  !  "  he  cried,  "  oh,   villain  !  " 

Benjamin  made  no  reply.  But  his  face  was  black  and  his 
eyes  obstinate. 

•'There  is  yet  more — oh,  there  is  more.  Thou  hast  lost 
thy  mother  as  well,  for  at  the  sight  of  her  husband's  death 
his  poor  patient  wife  could  no  longer  bear  the  trouble,  but 
she,  too,  fell  dead  of  a  broken  heart  ;  yea,  she  fell  dead  upon 
his  dead  body — the  Lord  showed  her  this  great  and  crown- 
ing mercy,  so  that  they  all  died  together.  This,  too,  Ben- 
jamin knew.      Oh,  villain  !  villain  1  " 

Benjamin  heard  unmoved,  except  that  his  scowl  grew 
blacker. 

"  Go  !  "  his  father  continued  ;  "I  load  thee  not,  my  son, 
with  a  father's  curse.  Thy  wickedness  is  so  great  that  thy 
punishment  will  be  exemplary.  The  judgments  of  God  de- 
scend upon  the  most  hardened.       Get  thee  gone  out  of  mjr 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM, 


229 


sight !  Let  me  never  more  behold  thee  until  thou  hast  felt 
the  intolerable  pain  ef  remorse.  Get  thee  hence,  I  say  ! 
Begone ! " 

"  I  rjo  not,"  said  Benjamin,  "  without  my  loving  wife.  I 
budge  not,  I  say,  without  my  tender  and  loving  wife. 
Come,  my  dear/' 

He  advanced  with  outstretched  hands,  but  I  broke  away 
andfied,  shrieking.  As  I  ran,  Mr.  Boscorel  stood  before  his 
son  and  barred  the  way,  raising  his  right  hand. 

"  Back,  boy — back  !  "  he  said,  solemnly,  "  Back,  I  say  ; 
before  thou  reach  thy  most  unhappy  wife,  thou  must  first 
pass  over  thy  father's  body. " 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

THE  VISION  OF  CONSOLATION. 

I  RAN  SO  fast,  being  then  young  and  strong,  that  Benjamin, 
I  am  sure,  could  not  have  overtaken  me  had  he  tried,  be- 
cause he  was  already  gross  of  body  and  short  of  breath  in 
consequence  of  his  tippling.  I  have  since  heard  that  he 
did  not  follow  me,  nor  did  he  dare  to  push  aside  his  father. 
But  he  laughed,  and  said,  "Let  her  run;  let  her  run.  I 
warrant  I  shall  find  her  and  bring  her  back,"  thinking,  I  sup- 
pose, that  I  had  run  from  him  as  a  girl  in  play  runs  from 
her  companions.  I  ran  also  so  long,  fear  lending  me 
strength,  that  the  sun  was  getting  even  intw  the  afternoon 
before  I  ventured  to  stop.  I  looked  round  from  time  to 
time,  but  saw  no  one  following  mo.  I  do  not  remember  by 
what  road,  track,  or  path  I  went ;  pasture-fields  and  planta- 
tions, I  remember ;  twice  I  crossed  a  stream  on  stepping- 
stones  ;  once  I  saw  before  me  a  village  with  a  church  tower, 
but  this  I  avoided  for  fear  of  the  people.  When  I  ventured 
to  stop  I  was  in  a  truly  wild  and  desolate  country — our 
county  of  Somerset  hath  in  it  many  such  wild  places  given 
over  to  forests,  fern,  and  heather.  Presently  I  remembered 
the  place,  though  one  forest  is  much  like  another,  and  I  knew 
that  I  had  been  in  this  place  before,  on  that  day  when  we 
rode  from  Lyme  to  Taunton,  and  again  on  the  day  when  we 
walked  prisoners  with  the  soldiers  \o  llrniuster.  I  wgs  on 
thQ  Black  Down  hill  again, 


'3° 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 


When,  therefore,  I  understood  where  I  was,  I  began  to 
recover  a  little  from  the  first  horror  -which  had  driven  me  to 
fly  like  oiiC  possessed  of  an  evil  spirit,  and  seeing  that  no 
one  was  in  pursuit,  I  began  to  collect  my  senses,  and  to 
ask  myself  wliither  I  was  going  and  what  I  should  do.  I 
was  then  in  that  ancient  enclosure  called  Castle  Ratch,  from 
whose  walls  one  looks  down  upon  the  broad  vale  of  Taunton 
Dean.  In  the  distance  I  thought  I  could  discern  the  great 
tower  of  St.  Mary's  Church,  but  perhaps  that  was  only  my 
irnagination.  I  sat  down  upon  the  turf  under  these  ancient 
walls*  and  set  myself  to  consider  my  condition,  which  was 
indeed  forlorn. 

First,  I  had  no  friends  or  protectors  left  in  the  whole 
world,  because  after  what  I  had  done  I  could  never  look 
upon  Robin,  or  even  Humphrey  again  ;  nor  could  I  impor- 
tune madam,  because  she  would  not  anger  her  son  (I  repre- 
sented him  in  my  mind  as  most  unforgiving)  ;  nor  could  I 
seek  the  help  of  Air.  Boscorel,  because  that  now  might  help 
his  son  to  find  me  out,  and  everybody  knows  that  a  hus- 
band may  command  the  obedience  of  his  wife.  And  Sir 
Christopher  was  dead,  and  my  father  was  d«ad,  and  my 
mother  was  dead,  and  I  could  not  even  weep  beside  their 
coffins,  or  follow  their  bodies  to  the  grave.  A  woman  with- 
out friends  in  this  world  is  like  unto  a  traveller  in  a  sandy 
desert  without  a  bottle  of  water. 

Yet  was  I  so  far  better  than  some  of  these  poor  friendless 
creatures,  because  I  had,  concealed  upon  me,  a  bag  con- 
taining all  the  money  which  Barnaby  had  given  me,  two 
hundred  and  fifty  gold  pieces,  save  a  little  which  we  had 
expended  at  Taunton  and  Ilminster.  This  is  a  great  sum, 
and  by  its  help  I  could,  I  thought  with  satisfaction,  live  for 
a  long  time,  perhaps  all  my  life,  if  I  could  find  some  safe 
retreat  among  godly  people. 

No  friends  .''  Why,  there  was  Susan  Blake,  of  Taunton  : 
she  who  walked  with  the  maids  when  they  gave  Alonmouth 
the  Bible,  the  sword,  and  the  flags.  I  resolved  that  I  would 
go  to  her  and  tell  her  all  that  had  happened.  Out  of  her 
kindness  she  would  take  me  in,  and  help  me  to  find  some 
safer  hiding-place,  and  perhaps  some  honest  way  of  living, 
so  as  to  save  his  money  against  l^arnaby's  return  from  the 
plantations. 

Then  I  thought  I  would  find  out  the  valley  where  we  had 
lived  for  a  fortnight,  and  rest  for  one  night  in  the  hut  and 
in  the  early  morning  before  caybreak  walk  down  the  comb, 
and  so  into  Taunton,  while  as  yet  the  town  was  still  sleep- 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 


231 


ing  ;  and  this  I  did.  It  was  very  easy  to  find  the  head  oi 
the  comb,  and  the  source  of  the  stream  where  we  had  made 
our  encampment.  Close  by,  beneatli  tlie  trees,  was  Ear- 
naby's  hut;  no  one  had  been  tliere  to  disturb  or  destroy  it, 
but  the  leaves  upon  the  boughs  which  formed  its  sides  were 
now  dead.  Within  it  the  fern  and  the  heath,  which  had 
formed  my  bed,  were  still  dry.  Outside,  the  pot  hung-  over 
the  black  embers  of  our  last  fire  ;  and,  to  my  great  joy,  in 
the  basket  which  had  contained  our  provisions,  I  found  a 
large  crust  of  bread.  It  was,  to  be  sure,  dry  and  hard,  but 
I  dipped  it  in  the  running  water  of  the  stream,  and  made 
my  supper  with  it.  For  dessert  I  had  blackberries,  which 
were  now  ripe,  and  are  nowhere  bigger  or  sweeter  than  on 
Black  Down.  There  were  also  filberts  and  nuts  also  ripe, 
of  which  I  gathered  a  quantity,  so  that  I  had  breakfast  pro' 
vided  for  me,  as  well  as  supper. 

When  I  had  done  this  I  was  so  tired,  and  my  head  so 
giddy  with  the  terror  of  the  day,  that  I  lay  down  upon  the 
fern  in  the  hut  and  there  fell  fast  asleep,  and  so  continued 
until  far  into  the  night. 

Now,  in  my  sleep,  a  strange  thing  happened  unto  me. 
For  my  own  part  I  account  it  nothing  less  than  a  vision 
granted  unto  me  by  mercy  and  special  grace  of  Heaven. 
Those  who  read  of  it  may  call  it  what  they  please.  It  was 
in  this  wise  :  There  appeared  before  my  sleeping  eyes  (but 
they  seemed  wide  open),  as  it  were,  a  broad  and  open  cam- 
paign ;  presently  there  came  running  across  the  plain  in 
great  terror,  shrieking  and  holding  her  hands  aloft,  a  girl 
whose  face  I  could  not  see.  She  ran  in  this  haste  and  ter- 
rible anguish  of  fear  because  there  followed  after  her  a  troop 
of  dogs  barking  and  yelping.  Behind  the  dogs  rode  on 
horseback  one  whose  face  I  saw  not  any  more  than  that  of 
the  girl.  He  cursed  and  swore  (I  knew  the  voice,  but  could 
not  tell  in  my  dream  to  whom  it  belonged),  and  cracked  a 
horrid  whip,  and  encouraged  the  dogs,  lashing  the  laggards. 
In  his  eyes  (though  his  face  was  in  some  kind  of  shadow), 
there  was  such  a  look  as  I  remembered  in  Benjamin's  when 
he  put  the  ring  upon  my  finger — a  look  of  resolute  and  hun- 
gry wickedness,  which  made  me  tremble  and  shake. 

Now,  as  I  looked,  the  dogs  still  gained  upon  her  who  ran 
and  screamed,  as  if  in  a  few  moments  they  would  s]-)ring 
upon  her  and  tear  her  flesh  from  her  bones.  Then,  sudden- 
ly, between  her  who  ran  and  those  who  pursued  there  arose 
an  awful  form.  He  was  clad  in  white,  and  in  his  hand  he 
bore  a  sword,  and  he  turned  upon  that  hunter  a  face  tilled 


»$x 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 


with  wrath.  Lightnings  shot  from  his  eyes,  and  a  cloud  ol 
thunder  lay  upon  his  brow.  At  the  sight  of  that  face  the 
dogs  stopped  in  their  running,  cowered,  and  fell  dead.  And 
at  the  dreadful  aspect  of  that  face  the  hunter's  horse  fell 
headlong,  and  his  rider,  falling  also,  with  a  shriek  of  terror, 
broke  his  neck,  and  so  lay  prostrate  and  dead.  Then  this 
dreadful  minister  of  God's  wrath  turned  from  him  to  the  fly- 
ing figure  ;  and  lo  !  his  face  was  now  transformed  ;  his  eyes 
became  soft  and  full  of  love  ;  he  smiled  graciously  ;  a  crown 
of  glory  was  upon  his  head  ;  white  robes  flowed  downward 
to  his  feet ;  his  fiery  sword  was  a  palm-branch  :  he  was  the 
Angel  of  Consolation.  "Have  no  more  fear,"  he  said, 
"though  the  waves  of  the  sea  rise  up  against  thee  and  the 
winds  threaten  to  drown  thee  in  the  deep.  Among  the  un- 
godly and  the  violent  thou  shalt  be  safe  :  in  all  times  of 
peril  the  Lord  will  uphold  thee  :  earthly  joy  shall  be  thine. 
Be  steadfast  unto  the  end." 

And  then  I  looked  again,  those  blessed  words  ringing  in 
my  ears  :  and  behold  !  I  saw  then,  which  I  had  not  seen 
before,  that  the  flying  figure  was  none  other  than  myself; 
that  he  who  cruelly  hunted  with  the  dogs  and  the  whip  was 
none  other  than  my  husband  ;  and  that  the  Angel  of  Wrath, 
who  became  the  Angel  of  Consolation,  was  none  other  than 
my  father  himself  But  he  was  glorified.  Oh,  the  face 
was  his  face,  that  any  one  could  see,  but  it  was  changed 
with  something — I  know  not  what — so  far  brighter  and 
sweeter  than  the  earthly  face  that  I  marvelled.  Then  the 
vision  disappeared,  and  I  awoke. 

So  bright  and  clear  had  it  been  that  I  seemed  to  see  it 
still,  though  I  was  sitting  up  with  my  eyes  open  and  it  was 
night  Then  it  slowly  vanished.  Henceforth,  however,  1 
was  assured  of  two  things  :  first,  that  no  harm  would  hap- 
pen unto  me,  but  that  I  should  be  protected  from  the  malice 
of  my  enemies,  whatever  they  might  design  (indeed,  1  had 
but  one  enemy,  to  wit,  the  man  who  had  that  morning 
sworn  to  love  and  cherish  me)  ;  and,  next,  that  I  had  seen 
with  mortal  eyes  what,  indeed,  had  been  vouchsafed  to  few 
— the  actual  spiritual  body — the  glorified  body,  like  to  the 
earthly,  but  changed — with  which  the  souls  of  the  elect  are 
clothed. 

So  I  arose  now  without  the  least  fear.  It  was  night,  but 
in  the  east  there  showed  the  first  gray  of  the  dawn,  and  the 
birds  were  already  beginning  to  twitter  as  if  they  were 
dreaming  of  the  day.  The  wind  was  fresh  and  I  was  lightly 
glad,  but  the    splendor  uf  the   vision  made  nie  forget  th? 


POk  PAiT/f  A^rPf  FREEDOM.  i  j  j 

cold.  Oh,  I  had  received  a  voice  from  heaven.  How  could 
I  henceforth  fear  anything  ?  Nay,  there  was  no  room  even 
for  grief,  though  those  terrible  things  had  fallen  upon  me, 
and  I  was  now  alone  and  friendless,  and  the  world  is  full 
of  ungodly  men. 

It  must  have  been  about  half-past  four  in  the  morning. 
It  grew  lighter  fast,  so  that  not  only  the  trees  became  visi- 
ble, but  the  black  depths  between  them  changed  into  glades 
and  underwood,  and  I  could  see  my  way  down  the  comb 
beside  the  stream.  Then,  without  waiting  for  the  sun  to  rise 
(which  he  presently  did  in  warmth  and  splendor),  I  started, 
hoping  to  get  into  Taunton  before  the  people  were  up  and 
the  streets  became  crowded.  But  I  did  not  know  the  dis- 
tance, which  must  have  been  seven  miles  at  least,  because 
it  was  nearly  eight  o'clock  when  I  reached  the  town,  having 
followed  the  course  of  the  stream  through  three  villages, 
which  I  have  since  learned  must  have  been  those  of  Pit- 
niinster,  Troll,  and  Wilton. 

It  was  market-day  and  the  streets  were  full  of  country 
people — some  of  them  were  farmers,  with  bags  of  corn  in 
their  hands,  going  to  the  corn-market,  and  some  with  carts 
full  of  fresh  fruit  and  other  things.  Their  faces  were  heavy 
and  sad,  and  they  talked  in  whispers,  as  if  they  were  afraid. 
They  had,  indeed,  good  cause  for  fear,  for  the  prison  held 
over  five  hundred  unfortunate  men  waiting  for  their  trial, 
and  the  terrible  judge  was  already  on  his  way,  with  his 
carts  filled  with  more  prisoners  rumbling  after  him.  Already 
Colonel  Kirke  had  caused  I  know  not  how  many  to  be 
hanged,  and  the  reports  of  what  had  been  done  at  Dor- 
chester and  Exeter  sufficiently  prepared  the  minds  of  the 
wretched  prisoners  at  Taunton  for  what  was  about  to  be 
done  there.  Among  them  was  the  unfortunate  Captain 
Hucker,  the  serge-maker,  who  had  looked  for  a  peerage 
and  was  now  to  receive  a  halter.  There  was  also  among 
them  that  poor  man,  Mr.  Simon  Hamlyn,  who  was  hanged 
only  for  riding  into  Taunton  in  order  to  dissuade  his  son 
from  joining  Monmouth.  This  the  Mayor  of  Taunton 
pointed  out  to  the  bloodthirsty  judge,  but  in  vain.  The 
whole  five  hundred  prisoners  were  in  the  end  sentenced  to 
death,  and  one  hundred  and  forty-five  actually  suffered,  to 
the  great  indignation  of  those  who  looked  on,  even  of  the 
king's  party.  Nay,  at  one  of  the  executions,  when  nineteen 
were  hanged  at  the  same  time,  and  a  great  fire  was  made  so 
that  the  sufferers  might  actually  see  before  their  death  the 
fire  that   wsis  to  burn  their  bowels,  the  very  soldiers  w«p^ 


4^4  ^(^f^  FAITH  AXD  FREEDOM. 

saying  that  it  was  so  sad  a  thing  they  scarce  knew  how  to 
bear  it.  Three  years  later  the  hard  heart  of  the  king  met 
with  its  proper  punishment. 

The  soldiers  were  among  the  crowd,  some  leaning  against 
bulkheads,  some  drinking  at  the  alehouses,  some  haggling 
for  the  fruit  ;  some  were  also  exercising  upon  Castle  Green, 
They  looked  good-natured,  and  showed  in  their  faces  none 
of  the  cruelty  and  rage  which  belonged  to  their  officers.  But 
M'hat  a  doleful  change  from  the  time  when  Monmouth's  sol- 
diers filled  the  town,  and  all  hearts  were  full  of  joy  and 
every  face  shone  with  happiness  !     What  a  change  indeed ! 

As  I  passed  among  the  crowd  one  caught  me  by  the  arm. 
It  was  a  little  old  woman,  her  face  all  wrinkled  and  puck- 
ered. She  was  sitting  on  a  stool  beside  a  great  basket  full 
of  apples  and  plums,  and  a  little  pipe  of  tobacco  within  her 
lips. 

"Mistress,"'  she  whispered,  taking  the  pipe  from  her 
mouth,  "thou  were  with  the  maids  the  day  of  the  flags,  I 
remember  thy  pretty  face.  What  dost  thou  here  al)road 
among  the  people  t  The  air  of  Taunton  town  is  uii'.v'hole- 
some.  There  may  be  others  who  will  remember  thee  as 
well  as  I.  Take  an  old  woman's  advice  and  get  thee  gone. 
How  fares  it  with  thy  father,  the  worthy  Dr.  Eykin  } " 

"Alas  !  "  I  said,   "  he  died  in  llminster  jail." 

"  'Tis  pity.  But  he  was  old  and  pious.  He  hath  gone 
to  glory.  Whither  will  those  poor  lads  in  the  jail  go  when 
they  are  hanged }  Get  thee  gone — get  thee  gone.  The 
air  is  already  foul  with  dead  men's  bodies.  They  tell  strange 
stories  of  what  hath  been  done  by  women  for  the  safety  of 
their  brothers.  Get  thee  gone,  pretty  maid,  lest  something 
worse  than  prison  happen  to  thee.  And  Judge  Jeffreys  is 
cominsT  hither  like  the  devil,  having:  much  wrath." 

I  could  not  tell  her  that  nothing  would  happen  to  me  be- 
cause I  was  protected  by  a  heavenly  guard, 

"I  was  in  the  town  forty  ^ears  agone,"  the  old  womari 
went  on,  "  when  Blake  defended  it,  and  we  were  well  nigh 
starved  ;  but  never  have  I  seen  such  things  as  have  been 
done  here  since  the  duke  was  routed.  Get  thee  gone  ; 
haste  away  as  from  the  mouth  of  hell ;  get  thee  gone,  poor 
child." 

So  I  left  her  ar.d  went  on  my  way,  hanging  my  head  in 
hopes  that  no  one  else  would  recognize  me.  Fortunately 
no  one  did.  though  I  saw  many  faces  which  I  had  seen  in 
the  town  l)eforc.  They  were  then  tossing  their  caps  and. 
•houting  for  Monmouth,  but  were  now  gloomily   whisper 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 


235 


ing-,  as  if  every  man  feared  that  his  own  turn  would  come 
next.  Over  the  great  gateway  of  the  castle  was  stuck  up  a 
high  row  of  heads,  arms,  and  legs  of  rebels  blackened  with 
pitch — a  horrid  sight.  Unto  this  end  had  come  those  brave 
fellows  who  went  forth  to  dethrone  the  king.  No  one 
noticed  or  accosted  me,  and  1  arrived  safely  at  Susan's 
house.  The  door  seemed  shut,  but  when  I  pushed  I  found 
that  it  was  open,  the  lock  having  been  broken  from  its  fas- 
tening. Barnaby  did  that,  I  remembered.  I  went  in,  shut- 
ting it  after  me.  Ko  doubt  Susan  was  with  her  children  in 
the  schoolroom.  Strange  that  she  should  not  repair  her 
lock,  and  that  at  a  time  when  the  town  was  full  of  soldiers, 
who  always  carry  with  them  their  riotous  and  lawless  fol- 
lowers.     'Twas  unlike  her  orderly  housekeeping. 

There  was  no  one  in  the  back  parlor,  where  Susan  com- 
monly took  her  meals  and  conducted  the  morning  and  even- 
ing prayers.  The  dishes  were  on  the  table  as  if  of  last  night's 
supper,  or  yesterday's  dinner.  This  was  also  unlike  a  tidy 
housewife.  1  opened  the  door  of  the  front  parlor.  Though 
it  was  already  past  the  hour  for  school,  there  were  no  chil- 
dren in  the  room  :  the  lesson  books  and  copying-books  and 
slates  lay  about  the  floor.  What  did  this  untidy  litter  mean .? 
Then  I  went  upstairs  and  into  the  bedrooms,  of  which  there 
were  three  ;  namely,  two  on  the  floor  above  and  one  a 
garret.  No  one  was  in  them,  and  the  beds  had  not  been 
made.  There  remained  only  the  kitchen  ;  no  one  was 
there.  The  house  was  quite  empty.  1  observed  also  that 
the  garden,  w^iich  was  wont  to  be  kept  with  the  greatest 
neatness,  now  looked  neglected  ;  the  ripe  plums  were  drop- 
ping from  the  branches  trained  upon  the  wall ;  the  apples 
lay  upon  the  grass  ;  the  flower-beds  were  cumbered  with 
weeds  ;  grass  grew  in  the  walks  ;  the  lawn,  which  had  been 
so  neat  and  trim,  was  covered  with  long  grass. 

What  had  happened.^  \Vhere  was  Susan.'*  Then  I  seemed 
to  hear  her  voice  above  chanting  God  for  the  victory,  as  she 
had  done  when  i5arnal)y  burst  in  upon  us  ;  and  1  heard  her 
singing  a  hymn  with  the  children,  as  she  had  done  while  we 
all  sat  embroidering  the  flags.  Oh  !  the  pretty  flags  !  And 
oh  I  the  pretty  sight  of  the  innocents  in  white  and  blue  car- 
rying those  flags  !  The  house  was  filled  with  the  sounds 
of  bygone  happiness.  Mad  I  stayed  another  moment  I  am 
certain  that  I  should  have  seen  the  ghosts  of  those  who  filled 
the  rooms  in  the  hnppy  rlnys  wIt^h  the  armv  was  in  the 
town.  But  I  did  not  stay.  Not  knowing  what  to  do  or 
whither  to  fly,  I  ran  quickly  out  of  the  house,  thinking;  only 


4^6  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

to  get  away  from  the  mournful  silence  ot  the  empty  and  do 
serted  rooms.  Then,  as  I  stepped  into  the  street,  I  met, 
face  to  face,  none  other  than  Mr.  George  Penne,  the  kind- 
hearted  gentleman  who  had  compassionated  the  prisoners 
at  Ilminster. 


CHAPTER  XXXIL 

MR.     GEORGE    PENNE. 

"'Tis  no  other  than  the  Fair  Maid  of  Ilminster!  "  said  Mr. 
Penne,  with  surprise.  "Madam,  with  submission,  is  it  safe 
— is  it  prudent — for  one  who  walked  with  the  maids  of 
Taunton  on  a  certain  memorable  day  to  venture  openly  into 
the  streets  of  this  city  at  such  a  time  }  Judge  Jeffreys  doth 
approach  to  hold  his  court.  Thy  friends  are  in  prison  or  in 
hiding.     The  maids  are  scattered  all. " 

"I  sought  shelter,"  I  said,  "at  the  house  of  Susan  Blake, 
the  schoolmistress." 

"How?  You  have  not  heard,  then.  Miss  Susan  Blake 
is  dead." 

' '  She  is  dead  }  " 

"She  died  in  Dorchester  Jail,  whither  she  was  sent,  being 
specially  exempted  from  any  pardon.  'Twas  fever  carried 
her  off.  She  is  dead.  Alas  !  the  waste  of  good  lives.  She 
might  have  bought  her  freedom  after  a  while,  and  then — but 
— well — 'tis  useless  to  lament  these  mishaps. " 

"  Alas  !  alas  !  "  I  cried,  wringing  my  hands.  "Then  am 
I  in  evil  plight  indeed.  All,  all  are  dead — all  my  friends  arc 
dead. " 

"  Madam,"  he  replied,  very  kindly,  "not  all  your  friends, 
if  I  may  say  so.  I  have,  I  assure  you,  a  most  compassion- 
ate heart.  I  bleed  for  the  sufferings  of  others  ;  I  cannot  rest 
until  I  have  brought  relief  This  is  my  way.  Oh,  I  take 
not  credit  to  myself  therefor  ;  it  is  that  I  am  so  constituted. 
I  am  not  proud  or  uplifted  on  this  account.  Only  tell  me 
your  case  ;  intrust  your  safety  to  me.  You  may  do  so 
safely,  if  you  reflect  for  one  moment  because — see — one 
word  from  me  and  you  would  be  taken  to  prison  by  yon 
worthy  clergyman,  who  is  none  other  than  the  Rev.  Mr. 
vValter  Harte,  the  Rector  of  Taunton.  No  one  is  more  ac- 
tive against  the  rebels,  and  he  would  rejoice  in  committing 


2-OK  i-'AITH  A.VD  I-REEDOM.  j^^ 

thee  on  4he  charge  of  having  been  among  the  maids.  A 
word  from  me  would,  I  say,  cause  you  to  be  hauled  to  jail. 
But,  observe,  I  do  not  speak  that  word.  God  forbid  that  I 
should  speak  that  word  !  " 

"Oh,  sir,"  I  said,   "this  goodness  overwhelms  me." 

"Then,  madam,  for  greater  privacy,  let  us  go  back  into 
the  house  and  converse  there." 

So  we  went  back  to  the  empty  house  and  sat  in  the  back 
parlor. 

"  As  for  the  nature  of  your  trouble,  madam,"  he  began, 
"  I  hope  you  have  no  dear  brothers  or  cousins  among  those 
poor  fellows  in  Taunton  Jail." 

"No,  sir,  my  only  brother  is  at  Ilminster  ;  and  my  cousins 
are  far  away  in  New  England." 

"That  is  well.  One  who,  like  myself,  is  of  a  compas- 
sionate disposition,  cannot  but  bewail  the  grievous  waste  in 
jail  fever,  small-pox,  scarlet  fever  or  putrid  throat  (to  say 
nothing  of  the  hangings)  which  now  daily  happens  in  the 
prison.  What  doth  it  avail  to  hang  and  quarter  a  man  when 
he  might  be  usefully  set  to  work  upon  his  majesty's  plaiita- 
tions  !  It  is  a  most  sinful  and  foolish  waste,  I  say  ' — he 
spoke  with  great  sincerity  and  warmth — "  and  a  robbing  of 
the  pockets  of  honest  merchants." 

"Indeed,  sir,"  I  said,  "your  words  prove  the  goodness 
of  your  heart." 

"  Let  my  deeds,  rather  than  my  words,  prove  that.  How 
fare  the  prisoners  with  whom  you  are  most  concerned .? " 

"Alas  !  Sir  Christopher  is  dead  ;  and  my  father  hath  also 
died  of  his  wound." 

"  So — indeed — more  waste.  They  are  dead.  More  waste. 
But  one  was  old.  Had  Sir  Christopher  been  sent  to  the 
plantations  his  value  would  have  but  a  small — though,  in- 
deed, a  ransom — but  he  is  dead  ;  and  your  father  being 
wounded — but  they  are  dead,  and  so  no  more  need  be  said. 
There  are,  however,  others,  if  I  remember  aright. " 

"There  is  my  brother  in  Ilminster  prison,  and — " 

"  Yes,  the  two  young  gentlemen,  Challis  is  their  name, 
in  Exeter.  I  have  seen  them  and  conversed  with  them. 
Strong  young  men,  especially  one  of  them.  'Tis  sad  indeed 
to  think  that  they  may  be  cut  off  in  the  very  bloom  of  their 
age,  when  they  would  command  so  high  a  price  in  Jamaica 
or  Barbadoes.  I  ventured  to  beg,  before  their  trial,  that  they 
would  immediately  begin  to  use  whatever  interest  they 
might  be  able  to  command,  in  order  to  get  their  sentence 
(which  was  certain)  commuted.       Many  will  be  suffered  to 


23^  J^OR  FAITH  AXD  FREEDOM. 

go  abroad;  why  not  these  young  gentlemen  ?  But  they  have 
no  interest,  they  assured  me,  and  therefore  I  fear  that  they 
will  die.  'Tis  most  sad.  They  cannot  hang  all,  that  is  quite 
true  ;  but,  then,  these  young  gentlemen  were  officers  in  the 
army,  and  therefore  an  example  will  be  made  of  them,  it 
they  have  no  interest  at  court." 

"Well  sir,"  I  told  him,  pleased  to  find  him  of  such  a 
kindly  and  thoughtful  disposition,  "you  will  be  glad  to  hear 
that  they  are  already  pardoned,  and  have  been  presented 
by  the  king  to  a  gentleman  at  court." 

"  Aha  !  Sayest  thou  so  ?  "  His  eyes  glittered,  and  he  rubbed 
his  hands.  "This  is  indeed  joyful  news.  One  of  them,  Mr. 
Robin  Challis  is  a  goodly  lad,  like  to  whom  there  are  few 
sent  out  to  the  plantations.  He  will  certainly  fetch  a  good 
price.  The  other,  Mr.  Humphrey,  who  is  somewha.t 
crooked,  will  go  for  less.  Who  hath  obtained  the  gift  of 
these  young  gentlemen  }  " 

"  It  is  a  person  named  Mr.  Nipho. " 

"  jNIr.  Jerome  Nipho.  I  know  him  well.  He  is  a  good 
Catholic — I  mean  a  papist — and  is  much  about  the  court. 
He  is  lucky  in  having  had  many  prisoners  given  to  him. 
And  now,  madarri,  I  hope  you  will  command  my  services.  " 

"  In  what  way,  sir  .?  " 

"  In  this  way.  I  am,  as  I  have  told  yon,"  here  he  wagged 
his  head,  and  winked  both  eyes,  and  laughed  pleasantly, 
"one  of  those  foolish  busybodies  who  love  to  be  still  doing 
good  to  their  fellow-creatures.  To  do  good  is  my  whole 
delight.  Unfortunately  the  opportunities  are  rare  of  confer- 
ring exemplary  benefit  upon  my  fellow-men.  But  here  the 
way  seems  clear." 

He  rubbed  his  hands  and  laughed  again,  repeating  that 
the  way  was  clear  before  him,  so  that  I  believed  myself  for- 
tunate in  falling  in  with  so  virtuous  a  person. 

"Oh,  sir,"  I  cried,  "  would  that  the  whole  world  would 
so  live  and  so  act  !  " 

"Truly,  if  it  did,  we  should  have  the  prisons  cleared. 
There  should  be  no  more  throwing  away  of  the  good  lives  in 
hanging  ;  no  more  waste  of  stout  fellows  and  lusty  wenches 
by  fever  and  small-pox.  All  should  go  to  the  planta- 
tions— all.  Now,  madam,  to  our  business,  which  is  the  ad- 
vantage of  these  young  gentlemen.  Know,  therefore,  that 
Mr.  Jerome  Nipho,  with  all  those  who  have  received  pres- 
ents of  prisoners,  straightway  sell  them  to  peisons  who  en- 
gage to  transport  them  across  the  seas  to  his  majesty's  plan-- 
tations  in  Jamaica,  Virginia,  .or  elsewhere.     Here  they  are 


POR  FAITIf  AXD  J'R££JDOM. 


0 


bound  to  work  for  a  certain  term  of  years.  Call  it  not  work, 
h  owe  ver^ "  he  added,  quickly;  "say,  rather,  that  they  are 
invited  every  day  to  exercise  themselves  in  the  cotton  and 
the  sugar  fields.  The  climate  is  delightful  ;  the  sky  is  sel- 
dom clouded  ;  there  are  never  any  frosts  or  snows  ;  it  is  al- 
ways summer  ;  the  fruits  are  delicious  ;  they  have  a  kind  of 
spirit  distilled  from  the  sugar-canes,  which  is  said  to  be 
finer  and  more  wholesome  than  the  best  Nantz  ;  the  food  is 
palatable  and  plentiful,  though  plain.  The  masters,  or  em- 
ployers (call  them  rather  friends),  are  gentlemen  of  the 
highest  humanity,  and  the  society  is  composed  of  sober 
merchants,  wealthy  planters,  and  gentlemen,  like  your 
brother,  who  have  had  the  m-isfortune  to  differ  in  opinions 
with  the  government." 

"Why,  sir,"  I  said,  "  I  have  always  understood  that  the 
transported  prisoners  are  treated  with  the  greatest  inhuman- 
ity, forced  to  work  in  heat  such  as  we  never  experience, 
driven  with  the  lash,  and  half  starved,  so  that  none  evei 
come  back." 

He  shook  his  head  gently.  "  See  now,"  he  said,  "  how 
prejudices  arise  !  Who  could  have  thought  that  the  planta- 
tions should  be  thus  regarded.?  'Tis  true  that  there  are  es- 
tates cultivated  by  convicts  of  another  kind  ;  I  mean  rob- 
bers, highwaymen,  petty  thieves,  and  the  like,  Bristol  doth, 
every  year,  send  away  a  ship-load  at  least  of  such.  Nay  ; 
'tis  reported  that  rather  than  hang  murderers'  and  the  like, 
the  Bristol  merchants  buy  them  of  the  magistrates ;  but  this 
is  out  of  the  kindness  of  their  hearts.  INIadam,"  he  thrust 
his  hand  into  his  bosom,  and  looked  me  in  the  face,  "  I, 
myself,  am  sometimes  engaged  in  that  trade.  I,  myself, 
buy  these  unhappy  prisoners,  and  send  them  to  estates 
where,  I  know,  they  will  be  treated  with  the  greatest  kind- 
ness. Do  I  look  like  a  dishonest  man,  madam  ?  I\Iy  name 
it  is  George  Penne,  and  I  am  known  by  every  man  of  credit 
in  Bristol.  Do  I  talk  like  one  who  would  make  money  out 
of  his  neighbor's  sufferings  .'*  Nay,  if  that  is  so,  let  us  part 
at  once,  and  say  no  more.  Madam,  your  humble  servant  ; 
no  harm  is  done,  your  humble  servant,  madam."  He  put 
his  hat  under  his  arm,  and  made  as  if  he  would  go.  But  1 
begged  him  to  remain,  and  to  advise  me  further  in  the 
matter. 

Then  I  asked  him  if  transported  persons  ever  came  home 
ag^ain. 

"  Surely,"  he  replied,  "some  of  them  come  home  laden 
with  gold.     Some  possessed  of  places  both  of  honor  and  of 


146  J-'OJ^  i-AITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

profit,  who  return  to  visit  their  friends,  and  then  go  back  ta 
the  new  country.  It  is  a  very  Eldorado,  or  Land  of  Gold, 
to  those  who  are  willing  to  work  ;  and  for  those  who  have 
money,  and  choose  to  buy  exemption  from  work,  it  is  only 
an  agreeable  residence,  in  cheerful  society,  for  a  certain 
term  of  years.  Have  you,  by  chance,  madam,  any  friends 
who  can  influence  Mr.  Jerome  Nipho  ?  " 

"No,  sir;  I  have  none. 

"Then  will  I,  myself,  communicate  with  that  gentle- 
man. Understand,  madam,  that  I  shall  have  to  pay  him  so 
much  a  head  for  every  prisoner  ;  that  I  shall  be  engaged  to 
place  every  man  on  board  ship  ;  that  the  prisoners  will  then 
be  taken  across  the  seas,  and  again  sold.  But  in  the  case 
of  those  who  have  money,  a  ransom  can  be  procured  by 
means  of  which  they  will  not  have  to  work." 

So  far  he  had  spoken  in  the  belief  that  I  was  at  Taunton 
on  my  brother's  business,  or  that  of  my  friends.  I  told 
him,  therefore,  that  certain  events  had  occurred  which 
would  prevent  me  from  seeing  the  prisoners  at  Exeter. 
And,  because  I  could  not  forbear  from  weeping  while  I 
spoke,  he  very  earnestly  begged  me  to  inform  him  fully,  in 
every  particular,  as  to  my  history  ;  adding  that  his  benev- 
olence was  not  confined  to  the  unhappy  case  of  prisoners, 
but  that  it  was  ready  to  be  extended  in  any  other  direction 
that  happy  chance  might  offer. 

Therefore  being,  as  you  have  seen,  so  friendless  and  so 
ignorant,  and  so  fearful  of  falling  into  my  husband's  hands, 
and,  at  the  same  time,  so  grateful  to  this  good  man  for  his 
kindly  offers  (indeed,  I  took  him  for  an  instrument  provided 
by  Heaven  for  the  safety  promised  in  my  vision  of  the 
night),  that  I  told  him  everything  exactly,  concealing 
nothing  ;  nay,  I  even  told  him  of  the  bag  of  gold  which  I 
had  tied  round  my  waist;  a  thing  which  I  had  hitherto  con- 
cealed, because  the  money  was  not  mine,  but  Barnaby'a 
But  I  told  it  to  Mr.  Penne. 

While  I  related  my  history  he  interrupted  me  by  frequent 
ejaculations,  showing  his  abhorrence  of  the  wickedness 
with  which  Benjamin  compassed  his  design  ;  and  when  I 
finished  he  held  up  his  hands  in  amazement. 

"Good  God!"  he  cried,  "that  such  a  wretch  should 
Hve  !  That  he  should  be  allowed  still  to  cumber  the  earth  ! 
What  punishment  were  fitting  for  this  devil  in  the  shape  of 
man  ?  Madam,  your  case  is  indeed  one  that  would  move 
the  heart  of  Nero  himself.     What  is  to  be  done?  " 

"Nay,  that  I  know  not.     For  if  I  go  back  to  our  villag* 


FOR  FATTH  AND  FREEDOM.  t\  t 

ne  will  find  me  there  ;  and  if  I  find  out  some  hidlng-placu 
he  will  seek  me  out  and  find  me  ;  I  shall  never  know  rest 
or  peace  again.  For  of  one  thing  am  I  resolved  ;  I  will 
die,  yea,  I  will  indeed  die,  before  I  will  become  his  wife 
more  than  I  am  at  present" 

"1  cannot  but  commend  that  resolution,  madam.  Bv.i 
(to  be  plain  with  you)  there  is  no  place  in  the  world  more 
unsafe  for  you  than  Taunton  at  this  time.  Therefore,  if  you 
please,  I  will  ride  with  you  to  Bristol  without  delay." 

"Sir,  I  cannot  ask  this  sacrifice  of  your  business." 

"My  business  lies  at  Bristol.  I  can  do  no  more  here 
until  Judge  Jeffreys  hath  got  through  his  hangings,  of 
which,  I  fear,  there  may  be  many,  and  so  more  sinful  waste 
of  good  convicts.  Let  us  therefore  hasten  away  as  quickly 
as  may  be.  As  for  what  shall  be  done  afterwards,  that  we 
will  consider  on  the  way." 

Did  ever  a  woman  in  misfortune  meet  with  so  good  a 
man  .-*     The  Samaritan  himself  was  not  of  better  heart. 

Well,  to  be  brief,  half  an  hour  afterwards  we  mounted 
and  rode  to  Bristol,  by  way  of  Bridgwater  (this  town  was 
even  more  melancholy  than  Taunton),  taking  three  days, 
the  weather  being  now  wet  and  raining,  so  that  the  ways 
were  bad.  Now,  as  we  rode  along,  Mr.  Penae  and  I  side 
by  side,  and  his  servant  behind,  armed  with  a  blunderbuss, 
our  conversation  was  grave,  turning  chiefly  on  the  impru- 
dence of  the  people  in  following  Monmouth,  when  they 
should  have  waited  for  the  gentry  to  lead  the  way.  I  found 
my  companion  (whom  I  held  to  be  my  benefactor)  sober  in 
manners  and  in  conversation  ;  no  drunkard ;  no  use  of  pro- 
fane oaths  ;  and  towards  me,  a  woman  whom  he  had  (so  to 
say)  in  his  power,  he  behaved  always  with  the  greatest  cere- 
mony and  politeness.  So  that  I  hoped  to  have  found  in 
this  good  man  a  true  protector. 

When  we  reached  Bristol  he  told  me  that,  for  my  better 
safety,  he  would  lodge  me  apart  from  his  own  house  ;  and 
so  took  me  to  a  house  in  Broad  Street,  near  St.  John's  Gate, 
where  there  was  a  most  respectable  old  lady  of  grave 
aspect,  though  red  in  the  cheek. 

"I  have  brought  you,  madam,"  he  said,  "to  the  house 
of  a  lady  whose  virtue  and  piety  are  well  known." 

"Sir,"  said  the  old  lady,  "this  house  is  well  known  for 
the  piety  of  those  who  use  it  And  everybody  knows  that 
you  are  all  goodness." 

"No,"  said  Mr.  Penne.  "No  man  is  good.  We  can 
bu^  try  our  best.     In  *hig  house,  however,  ma<i»m,  yon 

•6 


i42 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 


will  be  safe.  I  beg  and  implore  you  not  at  present  to  stir 
abroad,  for  reasons  which  you  very  well  know.  This  good 
woman  has  three  or  four  daughters  in  the  house  who  are 
sometimes,  I  believe,  merry — " 

"Sir,"  said  the  old  lady,   "  children  will  be  foolish." 

"True;  true,"  he  replied,  laughing.  "Take  care,  then, 
that  they  molest  not  madam. " 

"No,  sir,  they  shall  not." 

"Then,  madam,  for  the  moment  I  leave  you.  Rest  and 
be  easy  in  your  mind.  I  have,  I  think,  contrived  a  plan 
which  will  answer  your  case  perfectly.  ' 

In  the  evening  he  returned  and  sent  me  word,  very 
ceremoniously,  that  he  desired  the  favor  of  a  conversation 
with  me.  As  if  there  could  be  anything  in  the  world  that  I 
desired  more. 

"Madam,"  he  said,  "1  have  considered  carefully  your 
case,  and  I  can  find  but  one  advice  to  give." 

' '  What  is  it,  sir  ?  " 

"We  might,"  he  went  on,  "find  a  lodging  for  you  in 
some  quiet  VVelsh  town  across  the  channel.  At  Chepstow, 
for  instance,  or  at  Newport,  you  might  find  a  home  for  a 
while.  But  the  country  being  greatly  inflamed  with  dis- 
sensions, there  would  everywhere  be  the  danger  of  some 
fanatical  busybody  inquiring  into  your  history — whence  you 
came,  why  you  left  your  friends,  and  so  forth.  And  again, 
in  every  town  there  are  Avomen  (saving  your  presence, 
madam)  whose  tongues  tittle-tattle  all  day  long.  Short 
work  they  make  of  a  stranger.  So  that  I  see  not  much  safety 
in  a  small  town.  Then  again  you  might  find  a  farmhouse 
where  they  would  receive  you.  But  your  case  is  not  that 
you  wish  to  be  hidden  for  a  time,  as  one  implicated  in  the 
Monmouth  business.  Not  so  ;  you  desire  to  be  hidden  all 
your  life,  or  for  the  life  of  the  man  who,  if  he  finds  you,  may 
compel  you  to  live  with  him  ;  and  to  live  for — how  lonj"; .' 
Sixty  years,  perhaps,  in  a  dull  and  dirty  farmhouse,  amon^^ 
rude  boors,  w^ould  be  intolerable  to  a  person  of  your  m  tn- 
ners  and  accomplishments." 

"Then,  sir,  in  the  name  of  Heaven" — for  I  began  to  be 
wearied  with  this  lengthy  setting  up  of  plans  only  to  pul] 
them  down  again — "  what  shall  I  do  .?  " 

"You  might  go  to  London.     At  first  I  thought  that  Lon 
don  offered  the  best  hope  of  safe  retreat.     There  are  parts 
of  London  wiiere  the  gentlemen  of  the  robe  are  never  seen, 
and  where  you   might  be  safe.      Thus,   about  the  eastern 
parts  of  the  city  there  are  n?yer  any  lawyers  at  all.^     There 


POR  FAITH  AND  FKEEno.'if. 


l\l 


you  might  be  safe.  But  yet,  it  would  be  a  perpetual  risk. 
Your  face,  madam,  if  I  may  say  so,  is  one  which  will  not 
be  quickly  forgotten  when  it  hath  once  been  seen.  You 
would  be  persecuted  by  would-be  lovers  ;  you  would  go  in 
continual  terror,  knowing  that  one  you  fear  was  living  only 
a  mile  away  .from  you.  You  would  have  to  make  up  some 
story  to  maintain,  which  would  be  troublesome ;  and  pres- 
ently the  time  would  come  when  you  would  have  no  more 
money.      What  then  would  you  do  .?  " 

"Pray,  sir,  if  you  can,  tell  me  what  you  think  I  should  do, 
since  there  are  so  many  things  that  I  cannot  do." 

"Madam,  I  am  going  to  submit  to  you  a  plan  which 
seems  to  me  at  once  the  safest  and  the  best  You  have, 
you  tell  me,  cousins  in  the  town  of  Boston,  which  is  in  New 
England.'' 

"  Yes  ;  I  have  heard  my  father  speak  of  his  cousins." 

"I  have,  myself,  visited  that  place,  and  have  heard  men- 
tion of  certain  Eykins  as  gentlemen  of  substance  and  reputa- 
tion. I  propose,  madam,  that  you  should  go  to  these  cousins, 
and  seek  a  home  among  them. "' 

"  Leave  England  }  You  would  have  me  leave  this  coun- 
try and  go  across  the  ocean  to  America .?  " 

"That  is  my  advice.  Nay,  Madam,''  he  assumed  a  most 
serious  manner,  "do  not  reject  this  advice  suddenly. 
Sleep  upon  it.  You  are  not  going  among  strangers,  but 
among  your  own  people,  by  whom  the  name  of  your  pious 
and  learned  father  is,  doubtless,  held  in  great  honor.  You 
are  going  from  a  life  (at  best)  of  danger  and  continual  care, 
to  a  place  where  you  will  be  certainly  free  from  persecution. 
Madam,  sleep  uoon  it." 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

ON  BOARD  THE    "  JOLLY  THATCHER- 

I  LAY  awake  all  night,  thinking  of  this  plan.  The  more  I 
thought  upon  it  the  more  I  was  pleased  with  it.  To  fly 
from  the  country  was  to  escape  the  pursuit  of  my  husband, 
who  would  never  give  over  looking  for  me,  because  he  was 
so  obstinate  and  masterful.  I  should  also  escape  the  re- 
proaches of  my  lover,  Robin,  and  break  myself  altogether  from 


f  44  POk  FAI;  J!  AXD  FREEDOM. 

a  passion  which  was  now,  through  my  own  rashness,  becom6 
sinful.  I  might  also  break  myself  from  the  loathing  and 
hatred  which  I  now  felt  towards  my  wicked  husband,  and 
might  even,  in  time,  and  after  much  prayer,  arrive  at  for- 
giving him.  At  that  time,  yea,  and  for  long  afterwards,  I 
did  often  surprise  myself  in  such  a  fit  of  passion  as,  I  verily 
believe,  would  have  made  me  a  murderess,  had  opportunity, 
or  the  Evil  One,  sent  that  man  my  way.  Yea,  not  once, 
or  twice,  but  many  times,  have  I  thus  become  a  murderess 
in  thought  and  wish  and  intention.  I  confess  this  sin  with 
shame,  though  I  have  long  since  repented  of  it  :  to  have 
been  so  near  unto  it,  nay,  to  have  already  committed  it  in 
my  imagination,  covers  me  with  shame.  And  now,  when 
I  sometimes — my  lord,  the  master  of  my  affections,  doth 
allow  it — visit  the  prison  of  Ilchester,  and  find  therein  some 
poor  wretch  who  hath  yielded  to  temptation  and  sudden 
wrath,  which  is  the  possession  by  the  devil,  and  so  hath 
committed  what  I  only  imagined,  my  heart  goes  forth  to 
that  poor  creature,  and  I  cannot  rest  until  I  have  prayea 
with  her,  and  softened  her  heart,  and  left  her  to  go  contrite 
to  the  shameful  tree.  Nay,  since,  as  you  shall  hear,  I  have 
been  made  to  pass  part  of  my  life  among  the  most  wicked 
and  profligate  of  my  sex,  I  am  filled  with  the  thought  that 
the  best  of  us  are  not  much  better  than  the  worst,  and  that 
the  worst  of  us  are  in  some  things  as  good  as  the  best,  so 
that  there  is  no  room  for  pride  and  self-sufficiency,  but 
much  for  humiliation  and  distruct  of  one's  own  heart. 

Well,  if  I  would  consent  to  fly  from  the  country,  across 
the  seas  I  should  find  kith  and  kin  who  would  shelter  me. 
There  should  I  learn  to  think  about  other  things.  Poor 
wretch  !  as  if  I  could  ever  forget  the  village  ;  and,  Robin, 
oh,  that  I  should  have  to  try,  even  to  try,  to  forget  Robin. 
I  was  to  learn  that  though  the  skies  be  changed,  the  heart 
remains  the  same. 

How  I  fled,  and  whither,  you  shall  now  hear. 

Mr.  George  Penne  came  to  see  me  next  morning — sleek 
and  smiling  and  courteous. 

"  Madam,"  he  said,  "  may  I  know  your  decision,  if  you 
have  yet  arrived  at  one  ?  " 

"Sir,  it  is  already  made.  I  have  slept  upon  it ;  I  have 
prayed  upon  it.      I  will  go." 

"That  is  well.  It  is  also  most  opportune,  because  a  ship 
sails  this  very  day  ;  it  is  most  opportune,  I  say  :  even  provi- 
dential. She  will  drop  down  the  Channel  with  the  coming 
tide.     You  will  want  a  few  things  for  the  voyage." 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 


245 


"  It  will  be  winter  when  we  arrive,  and  the  winters  in 
that  country  are  cold.  I  must  buy  some  thicker  clothing. 
Will  there  be  any  gentlewomen  on  board  } '' 

"Surely" — he  smiled — "surely.  There  will  be,  I  am 
told,  more  than  one  gentlewoman  on  board  that  ship  ;  there 
will  be,  in  fact,  a  large  and  a  cheerful  company,  of  tnat  you 
may  be  assured.  Well,  since  that  is  settled,  a  great  load  of 
care  is  removed,  because  I  have  heard  that  your  husband 
rode  into  Taunton  with  Judge  Jeffreys  ;  that  he  learned  from 
some  one,  I  know  not  from  whom,  of  your  presence  in  the 
town,  and  of  your  departure  with  me. " 

"  It  must  have  been  the  market  woman." 

"Doubtless,  the  market-woman."  (  I  have  often  asked 
myself  whether  this  was  a  falsehood  or  not.)  "And  he  is 
even  now  speeding  towards  Bristol,  hoping  to  find  you. 
Pray  Heaven  that  he  hath  not  learned  with  whom  you  fled." 

"  Oh  !  "  I  cried,  "let  us  go  on  board  the  ship  at  once  ; 
let  us  hasten." 

"Nay,  there  is  no  hurry  for  a  few  hours.  But  stay  within 
doors.  Everything  that  is  wanting  for  the  voyage  shall  be 
put  no  board  for  you.  As  for  your  meals,  you  will  eat  with" 
— here  he  paused  for  a  moment — "  with  the  rest  of  thecom- 
pany,  under  the  care  of  the  captain.  For  your  berth,  it  will 
be  as  comfortable  as  can  be  provided.  Next,  as  to  the  money. 
You  have,  I  understand,  two  hundred  pounds  and  more." 
I  took  the  bag  from  my  waist,  and  rolled  out  the  contents. 
There  were  in  all  two  hundred  and  forty-five  pounds  and  a 
few  shillings.     The  rest  had  been  expended  at  Ilminster. 

He  counted  it  carefully,  and  then  replaced  the  money  in 
the  bag, 

"  The  Eykins,  of  Boston,  in  New  England,"  he  said,  "are 
people  of  great  credit  and  substance.  There  will  be  no 
necessity  for  you  to  take  with  you  this  money,  should  you 
wish  it  to  be  expended  to  the  advantage  of  your  brothorand 
your  friends." 

"  Take  it  all,  kindsir.  Take  it  all,  if  so  it  will  help  them  in 
their  need." 

"  Nay,  that  will  not  do,  either, "  he  replied,  smiling,  his 
hand  upon  the  bag  ;  "for,  first,  the  captain  of  your  ship 
must  be  paid  for  his  passage  ;  next,  you  must  not  go  among 
strangers,  though  your  own  kith  and  kin,  with  no  money  at 
all  in  purse.  Therefore  I  will  set  aside,  by  your  good  leave, 
fifty  pounds,  for  your  private  purse.  So,  fifty  pounds.  A 
letter  to  my  correspondent,  at  Boston,  which  I  will  write, 
will  cause  him  to   pay  you   this  money  on   your  landing. 


246  POR  FAITJI  AND  FREEDOM. 

This  is  a  safer  method  than  to  carry  the  money  in  a  bag^  ef 
purse,  which  may  be  stolen.  But  if  the  letter  be  lost  another 
can  be  written.  We  merchants,  indeed,,  commonly  send 
three  such  letters  of  advice,  in  case  of  shipwreck  and  loss  of 
the  bags.  This  done,  and  the  expenses  of  the  voyage  pro- 
vided, there  remains  a  large  sum,  which,  judiciously  spent, 
will,  I  think,  insure  for  your  friends  from  the  outset  the 
treatment  reserved  for  prisoners  of  distinction  who  can  afford 
to  pay.  Namely,  on  their  arrival  they  will  be  bought,  as  it 
is  termed,  by  worthy  merchants,  who,  having  been  pre- 
viously paid  by  me,  will  suffer  them  to  live  where  they  please 
without  exacting  of  them  the  least  service  or  work.  Their 
relatives  at  home  will  forward  them  the  means  of  sub- 
sistence, and  so  their  exile  will  be  softened  for  them.  If 
you  consent  thereto,  madam,  I  will  engage  that  they  shall 
be  so  received,  with  the  help  of  this  money." 

If  I  consented,  indeed!  With  what  joy  did  I  give  my 
consent  to  such  laying  out  of  my  poor  Barnaby's  money  \ 
Everything  now  seemed  turning  to  the  best,  thanks  to  my 
new  and  benevolent  friend. 

At  his  desire  therefore,  I  wrote  a  letter  to  Barnaby,  recom- 
mending him  to  trust  himself,  and  to  advise  Robin  and  Hum- 
phrey to  trust  themselves,  entirely  to  the  good  offices  of  this 
excellent  man.  I  informed  him  that  I  was  about  to  cross 
the  seas  to  our  cousins  in  New  England,  in  order  to  escape 
the  clutches  of  the  villain  who  had  betrayed  me.  And  then 
I  told  him  how  his  money  had  been  bestowed,  and  bade 
him  seek  me,  when  he  should  be  released  from  the  plant- 
ations, wherever  they  might  send  him,  at  the  town  of  Bos- 
ton, among  his  cousins.  The  letter  Mr.  Penne  faithfully 
promised  to  deliver.  {Nota  bene.  The  letter  was  never 
given  to  Barnaby.) 

At  the  same  time  he  wrote  a  letter  for  me  to  give  to  his 
correspondent  at  Boston,  telling  me  that  on  reading  that 
letter  his  friend  would  instantly  pay  me  the  sum  of  fifty 
pounds. 

Thus  was  the  business  concluded.  And  I  could  not  find 
words,  I  told  him,  to  express  the  gratitude  which  I  felt  for 
so  much  goodness  towards  one  who  was  a  stranger  to  him. 
I  begged  him  to  suffer  me  to  repay  at  least  the  charges  to 
which  he  had  been  put  at  the  inns  and  the  stabling,  since  he 
took  me  into  his  own  care  and  protection.  But  he  would 
take  nothing.  Money,  he  said,  as,payment  for  such  services 
as  he  had  been  enabled  to  render,"  would  be  abhorrent  to  his 
nature,     Should  good  deeds  be  bought  .-*  was  it  seemly  that 


FOA'  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  24^ 

a  mercharit  of  credit  should  sell  an  act  of  common  Christian 
charity  ? 

"What]"'  he  asked,  "are  we  to  see  a  poor  creature  in 
danger  of  being-  imprisoned  if  she  is  recognized,  and  of  being 
carried  off  against  her  will  by  a  husband  whom  she  loathes, 
if  he  tinds  her — are  we  to  see  such  a  woman,  and  not  be  in- 
stantly fired  by  every  generous  emotion  of  compassion  and 
indignation  to  help  that  woman  at  the  mere  cost  of  a  few 
days'  service  and  a  few  guineas  spent  ?  " 

I  was  greatly  moved,  even  to  tears,  at  these  words  and 
at  all  this  generosity,  and  I  told  him  that  I  could  not  suffi- 
ciently thank  him  for  all  he  had  done,  and  that  he  should 
have  my  prayers  always. 

"I  hope  I  may,  madam,"  he  said,  smiling  strangely. 
"When  the  ship  hath  sailed,  you  will  remember,  perhaps, 
the  fate  of  Susan  Blake,  and  whatever  may  be  your  present 
discomfort  on  board  a  rolling  ship,  say  to  yourself  that  this 
is  better  than  to  die  in  a  noisome  prison.  You  will  also  un- 
derstand that  you  have  fallen  into  the  haiids  of  a  respectable 
merchant,  who  is  much  more  lenient  than  Judge  Jeffreys, 
and  will  not  consent  to  the  wasting  of  good  commercial 
stuff  in  jails  and  on  gibbets." 

"  Nay,  sir,"  I  said,  "what  doth  all  this  mean  1  " 

"Nothing,  madam,  nothing.  I  was  only  anxious  that 
you  should  say  to  yourself,  '  Thus  and  thus  have  I  been 
saved  from  a  jail.      Such  was  Mr.  Penne's  humanity.'" 

"  Understand  it .?  Oh,  dear  sir,  I  repeat,  that  my  words 
arc  not  strong  enough  to  express  my  gratitude." 

"Now,  madam,  no  doubt,  your  gratitude  runs  high. 
Whether  to-morrow — " 

"  Can  I  ever  forget .?  To-morrow.?  To-morrow?  Surely, 
sir — " 

"Well,  madam,  we  will  wait  until  to-morrow.  INIear.- 
time,  lie  snug  and  quiet  all  day,  and  in  the  afternoon  I  will 
come  for  you.  Two  hundred  and  forty-five  pounds.  "lis 
not  a  great  sum,  but  a  good  day's  work — a  good  day's  work 
— added  to  the  satisfaction  of  helping  a  most  unfortunate 
young  gentleman — most  unfortunate." 

What  did  the  good  man  mean  by  still  talking  of  the  mor- 
row ? 

At  half-past  twelve  the  good  woman  of  the  house  brou'dif 
me  a  plate  of  meat  and  some  bread. 

"So,"  she  said  (her  face  was  red,  and  I  think  she  had 
l)een  drinking),  "he  hath  determined  to  put  you  on  boarj 
M'ith  the  rest.  I  hear." 


24?  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

"  Husti  \     If  you  have  heard,  say  nothing." 

"He  thinks  he  can  buy  my  silence.  Come,  madam, 
though,  indeed,  some  would  rather  take  their  chance  with 
Judge  Jeffreys — they  say  he  is  a  man  who  can  be  moved 
by  the  face  of  a  Avoman — than  with —  Well,  as  for  my 
silence,  there —  It  is  usual,  madam,  to  compliment  the 
landlady,  and  though,  I  confess,  you  are  not  of  the  kind 
which  do  commonly  frequent  this  house,  yet  one  may  ex- 
pect— " 

"Alas,  my  good  woman,  I  have  nothing.  Mr.  Penne  has 
taken  all  my  money." 

"What,  you  had  money  1  And  you  gave  it  to  Mr.  Penne? 
You  gave  it  to  him  ?  Nay,  indeed —  Why,  in  the  place 
where  thou  art  going — " 

She  was  silent,  for  suddenly  we  heard  Mr.  Penne's  step 
outside.     And  he  opened  the  door. 

"Come,"  he  said,  roughly.  "The  captain  says  that  he 
will  weigh  anchor  in  an  hour;  the  tide  serves,  come." 

I  hastened  to  put  on  my  hat  and  mantla 

"  Farewell,"  I  said,  taking  the  old  woman's  hand.  "I 
have  nothing  to  give  thee  but  my  prayers.  Mr.  Penne,  who 
is  all  goodness,  will  reward  thee  for  thy  kindness  to  me." 

"He  all  goodness  !"  repeated  the  old  woman.  "He.'* 
why,  if  there  is  upon  the  face  of  the  whole  earth — " 

"Come,  child,"  I\Ir.  Penne  seized  my  hand  and  dragged 
me  away. 

"The  woman,"  he  said,  "hath  been  drinking.  It  is  a 
bad  habit  she  hath  contracted  of  late.  I  must  see  into  it, 
and  speak  seriously  to  her.  But  a  good  nature  at  heart ; 
come,  we  must  hasten.  You  will  be  under  the  special  care 
of  the  captain.  I  have  provided  a  boxful  of  warm  clothing 
and  other  comforts.  I  think  there  is  nothing  omitted  that 
may  be  of  use.     Come." 

He  hurried  me  along  the  narrow  streets  until  we  came  to 
a  quay,  where  there  were  a  great  number  of  ships,  such  as 
I  had  never  before  seen.  On  one  of  them  the  sailors  were 
running  about  clearing  away  things,  coiling  ropes,  tossing 
sacks  and  casks  aboard  with  such  a  yo-hoing  and  noise  as 
I  never  in  my  life  heard  before. 

"  'Tis  our  ship,"  said  Mr.  Penne.  Then  he  led  me  along 
a  narrow  bridge,  formed  by  a  single  plank,  to  the  deck  of 
the  ship.  There  stood  a  gentleman  of  a  very  tierce  and 
resolute  aspect,  armed  with  a  sword  hanging  from  a  scarlet 
sash,  and  a  pair  of  pistols  in  his  belt. 

"Captain,"  said  Mr.  Penne,   "arc  all  aboard?" 


POR  FAITfl  AND  FREEDO.\l.  _-.;,, 

"Ay,  we  have  all  our  cargo.  And  a  pretty  crew  they 
are.      Is  this  the  last  of  them  ?     Send  her  for'ard." 

"  Madam,"  said  Mr.  Penne,  "suffer  me  to  lead  you  to  a 
place  where,  until  the  ship  sails  and  the  officers  have  time 
to  take  you  to  your  cabin,  you  can  rest  and  be  out  of  the 
way.  It  is  a  rough  assemblage,  but  at  sailing  one  has  no 
choice." 

Gathered  in  the  forepart  of  what  they  called  the  waist 
there  was  a  company  of  about  a  hundred  people.  Some 
were  young,  some  old ;  some  were  men,  some  women. 
Some  seemed  mere  children.  All  .alike  showed  in  their 
faces  the  extreme  of  misery,  apprehension,  and  dismay. 

"Who  are  these }  "  I  asked. 

"They  will  tell  you  themselves,  presently.  Madam, 
farewell."  With  that  Mr.  Penne  left  me  standing  among  this 
crowd  of  wretches,  and,  without  waiting  for  my  last  words 
of  gratitude,  hurried  away  immediately. 

I  saw  him  running  across  a  plank  to  the  quay.  Then  the 
boatswain  blew  a  shrill  whistle  ;  the  plank  was  shoved 
over  ;  some  ropes  were  cast  loose,  and  the  ship  began  to 
move  slowly  down  the  river  with  the  tide,  now  beginning 
to  run  out,  and  a  wind  from  the  northeast. 

I  looked  about  me.  What  were  all  these  people  .?  Why 
were  they  going  to  New  England  .?  Then,  as  the  deck  was 
now  clearer,  and  the  sailors,  I  suppose,  at  their  stations,  I 
ventured  to  walk  towards  the  after-part  of  the  ship,  with  the 
intention  to  ask  the  captain  for  my  cabin.  As  I  did  so,  a 
man  stood  before  me  armed  with  a  great  cane  which  he 
brandished,  threatening  with  a  horrid  oath  to  lay  across  my 
back  if  I  ventured  any  further  aft. 

"  Prisoners,  for'ard,"  he  cried.  "Back  you  go,  or,  by  tlu 
Lord  !  " 

"  Prisoner .?"  I  said  ;  "I  am  no  prisoner.  I  am  a  pas- 
senger. " 

"Passenger.?     Why,  as  for  that,  you  are  all  passengers."' 

"All  .?     Who  arc  these,  then  ?  " 

He  informed  me  with  plainness  of  speech  who  and  what 
they  were  ;  convicts  taken  from  the  prisons,  branded  in  the 
hand,  and  sentenced  to  transportation. 

"  But  I  am  a  passenger,"  I  repeated.  '  Mr.  Penne  hath 
paid  for  my  passage  to  New  England.  He  hath  paid  the 
captain." 

"The  ship  is  bound  for  Barbadoes,  rot  New  England. 
'Tis  my  duty  not  to  stir  from  this  spot,  but  here's  the  mate, 
tell  him." 


■ISO 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 


This  was  a  young  man  armed  like  the  captain,  with  pis' 
tols  and  sword. 

"Sir,"  I  said,  "I  am  a  passenger  brought  on  board  by 
Mr.  Penne,  whose  passage  hath  been  paid  to  New  Eng- 
land. " 

"By  Mr.  George  Penne,  you  say?" 

"The  same.  He  hath  engaged  a  cabin  for  me,  and  hath 
purchased  clothes  and — " 

"Is  it  possible,"  said  the  mate,  "that  you  do  not  know 
where  you  are,  and  whither  you  are  going  .'' " 

"I  am  going,  under  the  special  care  of  the  captain,  to 
the  city  of  Boston  in  New  England,  to  my  cousin  Mr.  Eykin, 
a  gentleman  of  credit  and  substance  of  that  town." 

He  gazed  at  me  with  wonder. 

"  I  will  speak  to  the  captain,"  he  said,  and  left  me  stand- 
ing there. 

Presently  he  returned.      "Come  with  me,"  he  said. 

"You  are  Grace  Eykin,"  said  the  captain,  who  had  with 
him  a  paper  from  which  he  read. 

"That  is  my  name." 

"On  a  certain  day  in  July,  your  father  being  a  preacher 
in  the  army  of  the  Duke  of  Monmouth,  you  walked  with  a 
procession  of  girls  bearing  flags  which  you  presented  to  that 
rebel. " 

"It  is  true,  sir." 

"You  have  been  given  by  the  king  to  some  great  lord  or 
other,  I  know  not  whom,  and  by  him  sold  to  the  man  Penne, 
who  hath  put  you  on  board  this  ship,  the  Jolly  Thatcher, 
port  of  London,  to  be  conveyed,  with  a  hundred  prisoners, 
all  rogues  and  thieves,  to  the  island  of  Barbadoes,  where  you 
will  presently  be  sold  as  a  servant  for  ten  years,  after  which 
period,  if  you  choose,  you  will  be  at  liberty  to  return  to 
England. " 

Then,  indeed,  the  captain  before  me  seemed  to  reel  about, 
And  I  fell  fainting  at  his  feet 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 


3|r 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

THEGOODSAMARITAN.  • 

This  was  indeed  the  truth ;  I  had  parted  with  my  money 
©n  the  word  of  a  villain ;  I  put  myself  into  his  power  by 
telling  him  the  whole  of  my  sad  story  ;  and  on  the  promise 
of  sending  me  by  ship  to  my  cousins  in  New  England  he 
had  entered  my  name  as  a  rebel  sold  to  himself  (afterwards 
I  learned  that  he  made  it  appear  as  if  I  was  one  of  the  hun- 
dred given  to  I\Ir.  Jerome  Nipho,  all  of  whom  he  afterwards 
brought  and  sent  to  the  plantations),  and  he  had  then  shipped 
me  on  board  a  vessel  on  the  point  of  sailing  with  as  vile  a 
company  of  rogues,  vagabonds,  thieves,  and  drabs  as  were 
ever  raked  together  out  of  the  streets  and  the  prisons. 

When  I  came  to  my  senses  the  captain  gave  me  a  glass  of 
cordial,  and  made  me  sit  down  on  a  gun-carriage  while  he 
asked  me  many  questions.  I  answered  them  all  truthfully, 
concealing  only  the  reason  of  my  flight,  and  of  my  visit  to 
Taunton,  where,  I  told  him  truly,  1  hoped  to  see  my  un- 
happy friend.  Miss  Blajce,  of  whose  imprisonment  and  death 
I  knew  nothing. 

"  Madam,"  said  the  captain,  stroking  his  chin,  "your 
case  is  indeed  a  hard  one.  Yet  your  name  is  entered  on  my 
list,  and  I  must  deliver  your  body  at  St.  Michael's  port, 
Barbadoes,  or  account  for  its  absence.  This  must  I  do  ;  I 
have  no  other  choice.  As  for  your  being  sold  to  Mr. 
George  Penne  by  Mr.  Jerome  Nipho,  this  may  very  well  be 
without  your  knowing  even  that  you  had  been  given  to  that 
gentleman  by  the  king.  They  say  that  the  maids  of 
Taunton  have  all  been  given  away,  mostly  to  the  queen's 
maids  of  honor,  and  must  either  be  redeemed  at  a  great 
price,  or  be  sold  as  you  have  been.  On  the  other  hand, 
there  may  be  villainy  ;  and  in  this  case  it  might  be  danger- 
ous for  you  to  move  in  the  matter  lest  you  be  apprehended, 
and  sent  to  jail  as  a  rebel,  and  so  a  worse  fate  happen  unto 
you." 

He  then  went  on  t(j  tell  me  that  this  pretended  merchant, 
this  Mr.  George  Penne,  was  the  most  notorious  kidnapjier  in 
the  whole  of  Bristol  ;  that  he  was  always  rakini^  the  prison* 


252 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 


of  rogues,  and  sending  them  abroad  for  sale  on  the  planta- 
tions  ;  that  at  this  time  he  was  looking  to  make  a  great  profit 
because  there  were  so  many  prisoners  that  all  could  not  be 
hanged,  but  most  must  be  either  flogged  and  sent  about 
their  business,  or  else  sold  to  him  and  his  like  for  servitude. 

"  As  for  any  money  paid  for  your  passage,"  he  M'ent  on, 
"  I  assure  you,  madam,  upon  my  honor,  that  nothing  at  all 
has  been  paid  by  him,  nor  has  he  provided  you  wich  any 
change  of  clothing,  or  provisions  of  any  kind  for  the  voyage  ; 
nor  hath  he  asked  or  bargained  for  any  better  treatment  of 
you  onboard  than  is  given  to  the  rogues  below,  and  that, 
madam,"  he  added,  "  is  food  of  the  coarsest,  and  planks,  for 
sleep,  of  the  hardest.  The  letter  which  you  have  shown 
me  is  a  mere  trick.  I  do  not  think  there  is  any  such  person 
in  Boston  ;  it  is  true,  however,  that  there  is  a  family  of  your 
name  in  Boston,  and  that  they  are  substantial  merchants. 
I  make  no  doubt  that  as  he  hath  treated  you,  so  he  will 
treat  your  friends,  and  that  all  the  money  which  he  has 
taken  from  you  will  remain  in  his  own  pocket." 

"  Then,"  I  cried,  "  what  am  I  to  do.?  Where  look  for 
help?" 

"'Tis  the  damnedest  villain  !"  cried  the  captain,  swear- 
ing after  the  profane  way  of  sailors.  "  When  nextl  put  in 
at  the  port  of  Bristol,  if  the  IMonmouth  scare  be  over,  I  will 
take  care  that  all  the  world  shall  know  what  he  hath  done. 
But,  indeed,  he  will  not  care.  The  respectable  merchants 
have  nothing  to  say  with  him  ;  he  is  now  an  open  Catholic, 
who  was  formerly  concealed  in  that  religion.  Therefore  he 
thinks  his  fortune  is  at  the  flood.  But  what  is  to  be  done, 
madam  ? " 

"  Indeed,  sir,  I  know  not." 

He  considered  awhile.  His  face  was  rough,  and  colored 
like  a  ripe  plum  with  the  wind  and  the  sun  ;  but  he  looked 
honest,  and  he  did  not,  like  Mr.  Penne,  pretend  to  shed 
tears  over  my  misfortunes. 

"  Those  who  join  rebellions,"  he  said,  but  not  unkindly, 
"  generally  find  themselves  out  in  their  reckoning  in  the 
end.  What  the  deuce  have  gentlewomen  to  do  with  the 
pulling  down  of  kings  ?  I  warrant,  now,  you  thought  you 
were  doing  a  grand  thing,  and  so  you  must  needs  go  walk- 
ing with  those  pretty  fools,  the  maids  of  Taunton  ;  well,  'tis 
past  praying  for  ;  George  Penne  is  such  a  villain  thai  keel- 
hauling is  too  good  for  him.  flogged  through  the  fleet  at 
Spithead  he  should  be.  Madam,  1  am  not  one  who  favors 
rebels  ;  y§t  you  cannot  sleep  and  mess  with  the  scum  down 


POfi  FAITH  AAD  t''kEEDOM.  ^53 

yonder.  'Twould  be  worse  than  inhuman — their  talk  and 
their  manners  would  kill  you.  There  is  a  cabin  aft  which 
you  can  have  ;  the  furniture  is  mean,  but  it  will  be  your  own  ; 
while  you  are  aboard  you  shall  mess  at  my  table  if  you  will 
so  honor  me.  You  shall  have  the  liberty  of  the  quarter-deck. 
I  will  also  find  for  you,  if  I  can,  among  the  women  aboard, 
one  somewhat  less  villainous  than  the  rest,  who  shall  be 
your  grumeta,  as  the  Spaniards  say  ;  your  servant,  that  is, 
to  keep  your  cabin  clean,  and  do  your  bidding.  When  we 
make  Barbadoes  there  is  no  help  for  it,  but  you  must  go 
ashore  with  the  rest  and  take  your  chance. " 

This  was  truly  generous  of  the  captain,  and  I  thanked  him 
with  all  my  heart  He  proved  as  good  as  his  word,  for 
though  he  was  a  hard  man,  who  duly  maintained  discipline, 
flogging  his  prisoners  with  rigor,  he  treated  me  during  the 
whole  voyage  with  kindness  and  pity,  never  forgetting  daily 
to  curse  the  name  of  George  Penne,  and  to  drink  to  his 
confusion. 

The  voyage  lasted  six  weeks.  At  first  we  had  rough 
weather,  with  heavy  seas  and  rolling  waves.  Happily  I 
was  not  made  sick  by  the  motion  of  the  ship,  and  could 
always  stand  upon  the  deck  and  look  at  the  waves  (a  spect- 
acle, to  my  mind,  the  grandest  in  the  whole  world).  But  I 
fear  there  was  much  suffering  among  the  poor  wretches,  my 
fellow-prisoners.  They  were  huddled  and  crowded  together 
below  the  deck  ;  they  were  all  seasick  ;  there  was  no  doctor 
to  relieve  their  sufferings  nor  were  there  any  medicines  for 
those  who  were  ill.  Fever  presently  broke  out  among  them, 
so  that  we  buried  nine  in  the  first  fortnight  of  our  voyage. 
After  this,  the  weather  growing  warm  and  the  sea  moderat- 
ing,  the  sick  mended  rapidly  and  soon  all  were  well  again. 

I  used  to  stand  upon  the  quarter-deck  and  look  at  them 
gathered  in  the  waist  below.  Never  had  I  seen  such  a  com- 
pany. They  came,  I  heard,  principally  from  London, 
which  is  the  rendezvous  or  headquarters  of  all  the  rogues  in 
the  country.  They  were  all  in  rags  ;  had  any  one  among 
them  possessed  a  decent  coat  it  would  have  been  snatched 
from  his  back  the  very  first  day  ;  they  were  dirty  from  the 
beginning  ;  many  of  them  had  cuts  and  wounds  on  their 
heads  gotten  in  their  fights  and  quarrels,  and  these  were 
bound  about  with  old  clouts  ;  their  faces  were  not  fresh 
colored  and  rosy  like  the  faces  of  our  honest  country  lads, 
but  pale  and  sometimes  covered  with  red  blotches  caused 
by  their  evil  lives  and  their  hard  drinking  ;  on  their  fore- 
heads was  clearly  set  the  seal  of  Satan.     Never  did  1  behold 


*54 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 


wickedness  so  manifestly  stamped  upon  the  human  couiv 
tenance.  They  were  like  monkeys  for  their  knavish  and 
thievish  tricks.  They  stole  everything  that  they  could  lay 
hands  upon  ;  pieces  of  rope,  the  sailors'  knives  when  they 
could  get  them,  even  the  marlin  spikes,  if  they  were  left 
about.  When  they  were  caught  and  flogged  they  would 
make  the  ship  terrible  with  their  shrieks,  being  cowa)rds  as 
prodigious  as  they  were  thieves.  They  lay  about  all  day, 
ragged  and  dirty,  on  deck  in  the  place  assigned  to  them, 
stupidly  sleeping,  or  else  silent  and  dumpish,  except  for 
some  of  the  young  fellows  who  gambled  with  cards,  I  know 
not  for  what  stakes,  and  quarrelled  over  the  game  and 
fought  It  was  an  amusement  among  the  sailors  to  make 
these  lads  fight  on  the  forecastle,  promising  a  pannikin  of 
rum  to  the  victor.  For  this  miserable  prize  they  would 
fight  with  the  greatest  fury  and  desperation,  even  biting  one 
another  in  their  rage,  while  the  sailors  clapped  their  hands 
and  encouraged  them.  Pity  it  is  that  the  common  sort 
do  still  delight  themselves  with  sport  so  brutal.  On  shore 
these  fellows  would  be  rejoicing  in  cock-fights  and  bull- 
baitings  ;  on  board  they  baited  the  prisoners. 

There  were  among  the  prisoners  twenty  or  thirty 
women,  the  sweepings  of  the  Bristol  streets.  They,  too. 
would  fight  as  readily  as  the  men  until  the  captain  forbade 
it  under  penalty  of  a  flogging.  These  women  were  to  the 
full  as  wicked  as  the  men  ;  nay,  their  language  was  worse, 
insomuch  that  the  very  sailors  would  stand  aghast  to  hear 
the  blasphemies  they  uttered,  and  would  even  remonstrate 
with  them,  saying,  "Nan,"  or  "Poll" — they  were  all  Polls 
and  Nans — "  'tis  enough  to  cause  the  ship  to  be  struck  with 
lightning.  Give  over  now  ;  wilt  sink  the  ship's  company 
with  your  foul  tongue  .?  "  But  the  promise  of  a  flogging 
kept  them  from  fighting.  Men,  I  think,  will  brave  anything^ 
for  a  moment's  gratification,  but  not  even  the  most  hardened 
women  will  willingly  risk  the  pain  of  the  whip. 

The  captain  told  me  that  of  these  convicts,  of  whom 
every  year  whole  ship-loads  are  taken  to  Virginia,  to  Jam- 
aica, and  to  Barbadoes,  not  one  in  a  hundred  ever  returns. 
"  For,"  he  said,  "the  work  exacted  from  them  is  so  severe, 
with  so  much  exposure  to  a  burning  sun,  and  the  fare  is 
so  hard,  that  they  fall  into  fevers  and  calentures,  and  besides 
the  dangers  from  the  heat  and  the  bad  food  there  is  a  drink 
called  rum,  or  arrack,  which  is  distilled  from  the  juice  of 
the  sugar-cane,  and  another  drink  called  mobbie,  distilled 
from  potatoes,  which  inflames  their  blood  and  causes  many 


FOR  FAITH  AXD  FREEDOM.  2^5 

to  die  before  their  time.  Moreover,  the  laws  a:e  harsh, 
and  there  is  too  much  tiogg-ing-  and  branding-  and  hanging. 
So  that  some  fall  into  despair,  and  in  that  condition  of  minu 
die  under  the  first  illness  which  seizes  on  them." 

"  Captain,"  I  said,  "you  forget  that  I  am  also  to  become 
one  of  these  poor  wretches." 

The  captain  swore  lustily  that  on  his  return  he  would 
seek  out  the  villain  Penne  and  break  his  neck  for  him. 
Then  he  assured  me  that  the  difference  between  myself  and 
the  common  herd  would  be  immediately  recognized,  that  a 
rebel  is  not  a  thief,  and  must  not  be  so  treated,  and  that  I 
had  nothing  to  fear  ;  nay,  that  he  himself  would  say  what 
he  could  in  my  favor.  But  he  entreated  me  with  the  utmost 
vehemence  to  send  home  an  account  of  where  I  was  and 
what  I  was  enduring  to  such  of  my  friends  as  might  have 
either  money  to  relieve  me  from  servitude  or  interest  to 
procure  a  pardon.  Alas  !  I  had  no  friends.  Mr.  Boscorel, 
I  knew  full  well,  would  move  heaven  and  earth  to  help  me. 
But  he  could  not  do  that  without  his  son  finding  out  where 
I  was,  and  this  thought  so  moved  me  that  I  implored  the 
captain  to  tell  no  one  who  I  was  or  what  was  my  history, 
and  for  greater  persuasion  I  revealed  to  him  those  parts  of 
my  history  which  I  had  hitherto  concealed,  naming  my 
marriage,  and  the  reason  of  that  rash  step  and  my  flight. 

"  Madam,"  he  said,  "  I  would  that  I  had  the  power  of  re- 
venging these  foul  wrongs.  For  them,  I  swear,  I  would 
kidnap  both  Mr.  George  Penne  and  Mr.  Benjamin  Boscorel, 
and,  look  you,  I  would  make  them  mess  with  the  scum  and 
the  sweepings  whom  we  carry  for'ard  ;  and  I  would  sell 
them  to  the  most  inhuman  of  the  planters,  by  whom  they 
would  be  daily  beaten  and  cuffed  and  flogged  ;  or,  better 
still,  wouldcause  them  to  be  sold  at  Havana  to  the  Spaniards, 
where  they  would  be  employed,  as  are  the  English  prisoners 
commonly  by  that  cruel  people,  namely,  in  fetching  water 
under  negro  overseers.  I  leave  you  to  imagine  how  long 
they  would  live  and  what  terrible  treatment  they  would 
receive. " 

So  it  was  certain  that  I  was  going  to  a  place  where  I  must 
look  for  very  little  mercy  unless  I  could  buy  it,  and  where 
the  white  servant  was  regarded  as  worth  so  many  years  of 
work;  not  so  much  as  a  negro,  because  he  doth  sooner  sink 
under  the  hardships  of  his  lot,  while  the  negro  continues 
frolick  and  lusty,  and  marries  and  has  children,  even  though 
he  has  to  toil  all  day  in  the  sun.  and  is  flogged  continually 
to  make  him  work  with  the  greater  heart. 


>56  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

Among'  the  womerx  on  board  was  a  young  woman,  not 
more  than  eighteen  or  thereabout,  wVto  was  called  Deb. 
She  had  no  other  name.  Her  birthplace  she  knew  not,  but 
she  had  run  about  the  country  with  some  tinkers,  whose 
language,  she  said,  is  called  Shelta  by  those  people.  This 
she  could  still  talk.  They  sold  her  in  Bristol,  after  which 
her  history  is  one  which  I  learn  is  common  in  towns.  When 
the  captain  bade  her  come  to  the  cabin,  and  ordered  her  to 
obey  me  in  whatsoever  I  commanded,  she  looked  stupidly 
at  him,  shrinking  from  him  if  he  moved,  as  if  she  were  ac- 
customed (which  was  indeed  the  case)  to  be  beaten  at  every 
word.  I  made  her  first  clean  herself  and  wash  her  clothes. 
This  done  she  slept  in  my  cabin,  and,  as  the  captain 
promised,  became  my  servant.  At  first  she  was  not  only 
afraid  of  ill-treatment,  but  she  would  wilfully  lie  ;  she  pur- 
loined things  and  hid  them  ;  she  told  me  so  many  tales 
about  her  past  life,  all  of  them  different,  that  I  could  believe 
none.  Yet  when  she  presently  found  out  that  I  was  not 
going  to  beat  her,  and  that  the  captain  did  never  offer  to 
cuff  or  kick  her  (which  the  poor  wretch  expected),  she  left 
off  telling  falsehoods  and  became  as  handy,  obliging,  and 
useful  a  creature  as  one  could  desire.  She  was  a  great 
strapping  girl,  black  eyed  and  with  black  hair,  as  strong  as 
any  man,  and  a  good-looking  creature  as  well  to  those  who 
like  great  women. 

This  Deb,  when,  I  say,  she  ceased  to  be  afraid  of  me,  be- 
gan to  tell  me  her  true  history,  which  was,  I  suppose,  only 
remarkable  because  she  seemed  not  to  know  that  it  was 
shameful  and  wicked.  She  lived,  as  the  people  among 
whom  she  had  been  brought  up  lived,  without  the  least  sense 
or  knowledge  of  God.  Indeed,  no  heathen  savage  could  be 
more  without  religion  than  the  tinkers  and  gypsies  on  the 
road.  They  have  no  knowledge  at  all  ;  they  are  born  ; 
they  live  ;  they  die  ;  they  are  buried  in  a  hedgeside  and  are 
forgotten.  It  was  surprising  to  me  to  find  that  any  woman 
could  grow  up  in  a  Christian  country  so  ignorant  and  so  un- 
cared  for.  In  the  end  she  showed  every  mark  of  penitence 
and  fell  into  a  godly  and  pious  life. 

My  captain  continued  in  the  same  kindness  towards  me 
throughout  the  voyage,  suffering  me  to  mess  at  his  table, 
where  the  provisions  were  plain  but  wholesome,  and  en- 
couraging me  to  talk  to  him,  taking  pleasure  in  my  simple 
conversation.  In  the  mornings  when,  with  a  fair  wind  and 
full  sail  the  ship  ploughed  through  the  water,  while  the  sun 
•was  hot  overhead,  he  would  make  me  a  seat  with  a  pillow 


roR  fhiiji  aa'd  freedom. 


257 


in  the  shade,  and  would  then  entreat  me  to  tell  him  about 
the  rebellion  and  our  flight  to  Black  Down.  Or  he  would 
encourage  me  in  serious  talk  (though  his  own  conversation 
with  his  sailors  was  overmuch  garnished  with  profane  oaths), 
listening  with  grave  face.  And  sometimes  he  would  ask  me 
questions  about  the  village  of  Bradford  Orcas,  my  mothel 
and  her  wheel,  Sir  Christopher  and  the  rector,  showing  a 
wonderful  interest  in  everything  that  I  told  him.  It  was 
strange  to  see  how  this  man,  hard  as  he  was  with  the  pris- 
oners (whom  it  was  necessary  to  terrify,  otherwise  they 
might  mutiny),  could  be  so  gentle  towards  me,  a  stranger. 
and  a  costly  one  too,  because  he  was  at  the  expense  of 
maintaining  me  for  the  whole  voyage,  and  the  whole  time 
being  of  good  manners,  never  rude  or  rough,  or  offering 
the  least  freedom  or  familiarity,  a  thing  which  a  woman  in 
my  defenceless  position  naturally  fears.  He  could  not  have 
shown  more  respect  unto  a  queen. 

One  evening  at  sunset,  when  we  had  been  at  sea  six  weeks, 
iie  came  to  me  as  I  was  sitting  on  the  quarter-deck,  and 
pointed  to  what  seemed  a  cloud  in  the  west  " 'Tis  tne 
island  of  Barbadoes,"  he  said.  "To-morrow,  if  this  wind 
keeps  fair,  we  shall  make  the  port  of  St.  ^Michael's,  which 
some  call  the  Bridge,  and  then,  madam,  alas  !  " — he  fetched 
a  deep  sigh — "I  must  put  you  ashore  and  part  with  the 
sweetest  companion  that  ever  sailed  across  the  ocean." 

He  said  no  more,  but  left  me  as  if  he  had  other  things  to 
say  but  stifled  them.  Presently  the  sun  went  down  and 
darkness  fell  upon  the  v/aters  ;  the  wind  also  fell  and  the 
sea  was  smooth,  so  that  there  was  a  great  silence.  "To- 
morrow," I  thought,  "we  shall  reach  the  port,  and  I  shall 
be  landed  with  these  wretches  and  sent  perhaps  to  toil  in  the 
fields."  But  yet  my  soul  was  upheld  by  the  vision  which 
had  been  granted  to  me  upon  the  Black  Down  hills,  and  I 
feared  nothing.  This  I  can  say  without  boasting,  because  I 
had  such  weighty  reasons  for  the  faith  that  was  in  me. 

The  captain  presently  came  back  to  me. 

"  Madam, "  he  said,  ' '  suffer  me  to  open  my  mind  to  you. " 

"Sir,"  I  told  him,  "there  is  nothing  which  I  could  refuse 
you  saving  my  honor."' 

'  I  must  confess,"  he  said,  "  I  have  been  torn  in  twain  for 
love  of  you,  madam,  ever  since  you  did  me  the  honor  to 
mess  at  my  table — nay,  iicai"  me  out — and  I  have  been 
minded  a  thousand  times  to  assure  you,  first,  that  your  mar- 
riage is  no  marriage,  and  that  you  have  not  indeed  any  hus- 
band at  all ;  next,  that  since  you  can  never  go  back  to  ycMi 

19 


t^S  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

old  sweetheart,  'tis  better  to  find  another  who  would  protect 
and  cherish  you  ;  and,  thirdly,  that  I  am  ready,  ay,  and 
longing,  now  to  become  your  husband  and  protector,  and  to 
love  you  with  all  my  heart  and  soul." 

"  Sir. "  I  said,  ' '  I  thank  you  for  telling  me  this,  which,  indeed, 
I  did  not  suspect.  But  I  am  (alas  !  as  you  know)  already  married 
(even  though  my  marriage  be  no  true  one),  and  can  never 
forget  the  love  which  I  still  must  bear  to  my  old  sweet- 
heart,    Wherefore  I  may  not  listen  to  any  talk  of  love. " 

"  If,"  he  replied,  "you  were  a  woman  after  the  common 
pattern,  you  would  right  gladly  cast  aside  the  chains  of  this 
marriage  ceremony.  But,  madam,  you  are  a  saint,  there- 
fore I  refrained,"  he  sighed.  "I  confess  that  I  have  been 
dragged  as  by  chains  to  lay  myself  at  your  feet.  Well,  that 
must  not  be,"  he  sighed  again;  "yet  I  would  save  you, 
madam,  from  the  dangers  of  this  place.  The  merchants 
and  planters  do  for  the  most  part,  though  gentlemen  of  good 
birth,  lead  debauched  and  ungodly  lives,  and  I  fear  that 
though  they  may  spare  you  the  hardships  of  the  field,  they 
may  offer  you  other  and  worse  indignities." 

I  answered  in  the  words  of  David  :  "the  Lord  hath  de- 
livered me  out  of  the  paw  of  the  lion,  and  out  of  the  paw  of 
the  bear,  he  wull  deliver  rhe  out  of  the  hand  of  the  Philis- 
tines. " 

"  Nay,  but  there  is  a  way.  You  need  not  land  at  all.  It 
is  but  a  scratch  of  the  pen,  and  I  will  enter  y-our  name 
among  those  w^ho  died  upon  the  voyage.  There  will  be  no 
more  inquiry  any  more  than  after  the  other  names,  and  then 
I  can  carry  you  back  with  me  to  the  port  of  London,  whither 
I  am  bound  after  taking  in  my  cargo.'' 

For  a  space  I  was  sorely  tempted.  Then  I  reflected.  It 
would  be,  I  remembered,  by  consenting  to  the  captain's 
treachery  towards  his  employers,  nothing  less,  that  I  could 
escape  this  lot. 

"No,  sir,"  I  said,  "I  thank  you  from  my  heart  for  all 
your  kindness  and  for  your  forbearance.  But  we  may  not 
consent  together  unto  this  sin.  Again  I  thank  you.  But  I 
must  suffer  w^hat  is  laid  upon  me." 

He  knelt  at  my  feet  and  kissed  my  hands,  saying  nothing 
more,  and  presently  I  went  to  my  cabin  ;  and  so  ended  my 
first  voyage  across  the  great  Atlantic  Ocean.  In  the  morn- 
ing, when  I  awoke,  we  were  beating  off  Carlisle  Bay,  and  I  . 
felt  like  unto  one  of  those  Christian  martyrs  of  whom  I  have 
read,  whom  they  were  about  to  lead  forth  and  cast  unto  the 
lions. 


J^VR  FAWII  AND  FREEDOM  35^ 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

THE  WHITE  SLAVE. 

When  we  dropped  anchor  in  the  port  or  road  of  Carlisle 
Bay  we  were  boarded  by  a  number  of  gentlemen  who  wel- 
comed the  captain,  asked  him  the  news,  and  drank  with 
him.  I  meantime  kept  in  my  cabin,  knowing  that  I  must 
shortly  come  forth  ;  and  presently  I  heard  the  boatswain's 
pipe,  and  the  order  to  all  the  prisoners  to  come  on  deck. 
Then  one  knocked  softly  at  my  door.      It  was  the  captain. 

"  Madam,"  he  said,  with  a  troubled  voice,  "it  is  not  too 
late.  Suffer  me,  I  pray  you,  to  enter  your  name  as  one  of 
those  who  died  on  the  voyage.  It  is  no  great  deception  : 
the  villain  Penne  will  alone  be  hurt'by  it  ;  and  I  swear  to 
take  you  home,  and  to  place  you,  until  better  times,  with 
honest  and  God-fearing  people  in  London." 

"  Oh,  sir,"  I  replied,  "tempt  me  not,  I  pray  you.  Let 
me  go  forth  and  take  my  place  among  the  rest. " 

He  entreated  me  again  :  but,  finding  that  he  could  not 
prevail,  he  suffered  me  to  come  out.  Yet  such  was  his 
kindness  to  the  last,  that  he  would  not  place  me  with  the 
rest,  but  caused  his  men  to  give  me  a  chair  on  the  quarter- 
deck. Then  I  saw  that  we  were  all  to  be  sold.  The  pris- 
oners were  drawn  up  standing  in  lines,  one  behind  the 
other,  the  men  on  one  side  and  the  women  on  the  other. 
The  hardships  of  the  voyage  had  brought  them  so  low  that, 
with  their. rags  and  dirt,  and  their  dull  scowls  and  savage 
faces,  and  their  thin,  pale  checks,  they  presented  a  forbidding 
appearance  indeed. 

Three  or  four  gentlemen  (they  were,  I  found,  planters  of 
this  island)  were  examining  them,  ordering  them  to  lift  up 
their  arms,  stretch  out  their  legs,  open  their  mouths,  and, 
in  short,  treating  them  like  so  many  cattle,  at  which  the 
women  laughed  with  ril)ald  words,  but  the  men  looked  as 
if  they  would  willingly,  if  they  dared,  take  revenge. 

"  Faugh  1  "  cried  one  of  the  planters,  "  here  is  a  goodly 
collection  indeed  !  The  island  is  like  to  become  the  dust- 
heap  of  Great  Britain,  where  all  the  rubbish  may  be  shot. 
Captain,  how  long  before  these  bags  of  bones  will  drop  to 


jii:)  jOJ^  faith  AA'D  FREEbOAL 

pieces/'  vVell.  sweet  ladies  and  fair  gentlemen  " — he  made 
a  mock  bow  to  the  prisoners — ■'  you  are  welcome.  After 
the  voyage,  a  little  exercise  will  do  you  good.  You  will 
find  the  air  of  the  fields  wholesome,  and  the  gentlewomen, 
I  assure  you,  will  discover  that  the  drivers  and  overseers 
will  oblige  any  who  want  to  dance  with  a  skipping-rope." 

There  were  now  twenty  or  thirty  gentlemen,  all  of  them 
merchants  and  planters,  on  board,  and  a  man  stepped  for- 
ward with  a  book  and  pencil  in  hand,  who  was,  I  perceived, 
the  salesman. 

"Gentlemen,  he  said,  "  this  parcel  of  servants  "  (he  called 
them  a  parcel,  as  if  they  were  a  bale  of  dry-goods)  "is  con- 
signed to  my  care  by  Mr.  George  Penne,  of  Bristol,  their 
owner.  They  are  partly  from  that  city  and  partly  from 
London,  though  shipped  at  the  port  of  Bristol.  A  tedious 
voyage,  following  after  a  long  imprisonment  in  Newgate 
and  Bridewell,  hath,  it  is  true,  somewhat  reduced  them. 
But  there  are  among  them,  as  you  will  find  on  examination, 
many  lusty  fellows  and  stout  wenches,  and  I  doubt  not  that 
what  you  buy  to-day  will  hereafter  prove  good  bargains. 
They  are  to  be  sold  without  reserve  and  to  the  highest  bid- 
der. Robert  Bull " — he  read  the  first  name  on  the  list 
—  "Robert  Bull,  shoplifter.      Stand  forth,  Robert  Bull." 

There  arose  from  the  deck,  where  he  had  been  lying,  a 
poor  wretch  who  looked  as  if  he  could  hardly  stand,  wasted 
with  fever  and  privation,  his  eyes  hollow  (yet  they  looked 
full  of  wicked  cunning).     The  planters  shook  their  heads. 

"Come,  gentlemen,"  said  the  salesman,  "we  must  not 
judge  by  appearances.  He  is  at  present,  no  doubt,  weak, 
but  not  so  weak  as  he  looks.  I  warrant  a  smart  cut  or  two 
of  the  whip  would  show  another  man.  Who  bids  for  Robert 
Bull .?  " 

He  was  sold,  after  a  little  parley,  for  the  sum  of  five  pounas. 
Then  the  speaker  called  another,  naming  his  offence  as  a 
qualification.  No  pillory  could  be  more  shameful.  Yet  the 
men  looked  dogged  and  the  women  laughed. 

The  sale  lasted  for  three  or  four  hours,  the  prisoners  being 
knocked  down,  as  they  say,  for  various  sums,  the  greatest 
price  being  given  for  those  women  who  were  young  and 
strong.  The  reason  (I  have  been  told)  is  that  the  women 
make  better  servants,  endure  the  heat  more  patiently,  do  not 
commonly  drink  the  strong  spirit  which  destroys  the  men, 
and  though  they  are  not  so  strong,  do  more  \vork. 

Last  of  all  the  men  called  my  name.  "  Grace  Eykin. 
rebel.      Stand  forth,  Grace  Eykin.'" 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  26 1 

"  Do  not  g'o  down  among'  them,"  said  the  captain.  "  Let 
them  see  at  once  that  yours  is  no  common  case.  Stand 
here. " 

He  led  me  to  the  top  of  the  ladder  or  steps,  which  they 
call  the  companion,  leading  from  the  waist  to  the  quarter- 
deck. 

"  Madam,"'  he  said,  "  it  will  be  best  to  throw  back  your 
hood. " 

This  I  did,  and  so  stood  before  them  all  bareheaded. 

Oh,  you  who  are  women  of  gentle  nature,  think  of  such  a 
thing  as  thus  to  stand  exposed  to  the  curious  gaze  of  rough 
and  ribald  men  ;  to  be  bought  and  sold  like  a  horse  or  an  ox 
at  the  fair.  At  first  my  eyes  swam,  and  I  saw  nothing,  and 
should  have  fallen,  but  the  captain  placed  his  hand  upon  my 
arm,  and  so  I  was  steadied.  Then  my  sight  cleared,  and  I 
could  look  down  upon  the  faces  of  the  men  below.  There 
was  no  place  whither  I  could  fly  and  hide  ;  it  would  be  more 
shameful  still  (because  it  might  make  them  laugh)  to  burst 
into  tears.  Why,  I  thought,  why  had  I  not  accepted  the 
captain's  offer,  and  suffered  my  name  to  be  entered  as  one 
of  those  who  had  died  on  the  voyage  and  been  buried  in  the 
sea.-* 

Down  in  the  waist  the  gentleman  gazed  and  gasped  in 
astonishment  It  was  no  new  thing  for  the  planters  to  buy 
political  prisoners.  Oliver  Cromwell  sent  over  a  ship-load 
of  Irishmen  first,  and  another  ship-load  of  those  engaged  in 
the  rising  of  Penruddock  and  Grove  (among  them  were 
gentlemen,  divines,  and  officers,  of  whom  a  few  yet  survived 
on  the  island).  But  as  yet  no  gentlewoman  at  all  had  heen 
sent  out  for  political  reasons.  Therefore,  I  suppose,  they 
looked  so  amazed,  and  gazed  first  at  me  and  then  at  one  an- 
other and  then  gasped  for  breath. 

"Grace  Eykin,  gentlemen,"  said  the  salesman,  who  had  a 
tongue  which,  as  they  say,  ran  upon  wheels,  "  is  a  young 
gentlewoman,  the  daughter,  I  am  informed,  of  the  Rev. 
Comfort  Eykin,  Doctor  of  Divinity,  deceased,  formerly 
Rector  of  Bradford  Orcas  in  the  County  of  Somerset,  and 
sometime  fellow  of  his  college  at  Oxford,  a  very  learned 
divine.  She  hath  had  the  misfortune  to  have  taken  part  in 
the  Monmouth  rebellion,  and  was  one  of  those  maids  of 
Taunton  who  gave  the  duke  his  flags,  as  you  have  heard  by 
the  latest  advices.  Therefore  she  is  sent  aljioad  for  a  term 
often  years.  Gentlemen,  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  her 
relations  will  not  endure  that  this  young  lady,  as  beautiful  as 
fhe  is  unfortunate,  and  as  tender  as  she  is  beautiful,  should 


262  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

be  exposed  to  the  same  hard  treatment  as  the  rogues  and 
thieves  whom  you  have  just  had  put  up  for  sale.  They  will, 
I  am.  privately  assured" — I  heard  this  statement  with  amaze- 
ment— "gladly  pui'chase  her  freedom;  after  which,  unless 
she  is  permitted  to  return,  the  society  of  our  colony  will  re- 
joice in  the  residence  among  them  of  one  so  lovely  and  so 
accomplished.     Meantime  she  must  be  sold  like  the  rest." 

"Did  Monmouth  make  war  with  women  for  his  followers?" 
asked  a  gentleman  of  graver  aspect  than  most.  "I,  for  one, 
will  have  no  part  or  share  in  such  traffic.  Are  English  gen- 
tlewomen, because  their  friends  are  rebels,  to  be  sent  into  the 
fields  with  the  negroes?" 

"Your  wife  would  be  jealous,"  said  another;  and  then 
they  all  laughed. 

I  understood  not,  until  afterwards,  that  the  buying  and 
selling  of  such  a  person  as  I  appeared  to  be  is  a  kind  of 
gambling.  That  is  to  say,  the  buyer  hopes  to  get  his  profit, 
not  by  any  work  that  his  servant  should  do,  but  by  the 
ransom  that  his  friends  at  home  should  offer.  And  so  they 
began  to  bid,  with  jokes  rude  and  unseemly,  and  much 
laughter  while  I  stood  before  them,  still  bareheaded. 

"Ten  pounds,"  one  began.  "Twelve,"  cried  another. 
"Fifteen,"  said  a  third,  and  so  on,  the  price  continually 
rising — and  the  salesman,  with  honeyed  tongue,  continually 
declaring  that  my  friends  (as  he  very  well  knew)  would  con- 
sent to  give  any  ransom,  any,  so  only  that  I  was  set  free 
from,  servitude — until,  for  sixty  pounds,  no  one  offering  a 
higher  price,  I  was  sold  to  one  whose  appearance  I  liked  the 
least  of  any.  He  was  a  gross,  fat  man,  with  puffed  cheeks 
and  short  neck,  who  had  bought  already  about  twenty  of  the 
servants. 

"Be  easy,"  he  said,  to  one  who  asked  him  how  he  looked 
to  get  his  money  back.  "It  is  not  for  twice  sixty  pounds 
that  I  will  consent  to  let  her  go.  What  is  twice  sixty  pounds 
for  a  lovely  piece  like  this?" 

Then  the  captain,  who  had  stood  beside  me  saying  noth- 
ing, interfered. 

"Madam,"  he  said,  "you  can  put  up  your  hood  again. 
And  hark  ye,  sir" — he  spoke  to  the  planter — "remember 
that  this  is  a  pious  and  virtuous  gentlewoman,  and" — here 
he  swore  a  round  oath— "if  T  hear,  when  I  make  this  port 
again,  that  you  have  offered  her  the  least  freedom,  you 
shall  answer  to  me  for  it.  Gentlemen  all,"  he  went  on,  "I 
verily  believe  that  you  will  shortly  have  the  greatest  wind- 
fall that  hath  ever  happened  to  you,  compared  with  which 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  263 

fhe  Salisbury  rising'  was  but  a  fleabite.  For  the  trials  of  the 
Monmouth  rebels  were  already  begun  when  I  left  the  port 
of  Bristol,  and  though  the  judges  are  sentencing  all  alike  to 
death,  they  cannot  hang  them  all,  therefore  his  majesty's 
plantations,  and  Barbadoes  in  particular,  will  not  only  have 
whole  cargoes  of  stout  and  able-bodied  servants,  compared 
with  whom  these  poor  rogues  are  like  so  many  worthless 
weeds,  but  there  will  also  be  many  gentlemen,  and  perhaps 
gentlewomen,  like  madam,  here,  whose  freedom  will  be 
bought  of  you.  So  that  I  earnestly  advise  and  entreat  you 
not  to  treat  them  cruelly,  but  with  gentleness  and  for- 
bearance, whereby  you  will  be  the  gainers  in  the  end,  and 
will  make  their  friends  the  readier  to  find  the  price  of  ran- 
som. Moreover,  you  must  remember,  that  though  gentle- 
men may  be  flogged  at  whipping-posts  and  beat  over  the 
head  with  canes,  as  is  your  habit  with  servants  both  black 
and  white,  when  the  time  of  their  deliverance  arrives  they 
will  be  no  longer  slaves,  but  gentlemen  again,  and  able  once 
more  to  stand  upon  the  point  of  honor,  and  to  run  you  through 
the  body,  as  you  will  richly  deserve  for  your  barbarity.  And 
in  the  same  way,  any  gentlewoman  who  may  be  sent  here 
have  brothers  and  cousins  who  will  be  ready  to  perform  the 
same  act  of  kindness  on  their  behalf.  Remember  that  very 
carefully,  gentlemen,  if  you  please. " 

The  captain  spoke  to  all  the  gentlemen  present,  but  in  the 
last  words  he  addressed  himself  particularly  unto  my  new 
master.  It  was  a  warning  likely  to  be  very  serviceable, 
the  planters  being  one  and  all  notoriously  addicted  to  beat- 
ing and  whipping  their  servants.  And  I  have  no  doubt  that 
these  words  did  a  great  deal  towards  assuring  for  the  unfor- 
tunate gentlemen  who  presently  arrived  such  considera- 
tion and  good  treatment  as  they  would  not  otherwise  have 
received. 

The  island  of  Barbadoes,  as  many  people  know,  is  one  of 
the  Caribby  Islands.  It  is,  as  to  size,  a  small  place,  not 
more  than  twenty  miles  in  length  by  fifteen  in  l)readth,  but 
in  population  it  is  a  very  considerable  place  indeed,  for  it  is 
said  to  have  as  many  people  in  it  as  the  city  of  Bristol.  It 
is  completely  settled,  and  of  the  former  inhabitants  not  one 
is  left.  They  were  the  people  called  Indian.s  or  Caribs,  and 
how  tliey  perished  I  know  not.  The  island  hath  four  ports 
of  which  the  principal  is  that  of  St.  Michael,  or  the  Bridge, 
or  Bridgetown,  in  Carlisle  Bay.  The  heat  by  day  is  very 
great,  and  there  is  no  winter,  but  summer  all  the  year 
round.     There  is,   however,  a  cool  bree/.c  from   the  sea, 


2(54  P(^^^  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

which  moderates  the  heat  A  great  number  of  vessels  cal\ 
here  every  year  (there  is  said  to  be  one  every  day,  but  this 
I  cannot  believe).  They  bring  to  the  island  all  kinds  of 
European  manufactures,  and  take  away  with  them  cargoes 
of  jMuscovada  sugar,  cotton,  ginger,  and  logwood.  The 
island  hath  its  shores  covered  with  plantations,  being  (the 
people  say)  already  more  thickly  cultivated  than  any  part 
of  England,  with  fewer  waste  places,  commons,  and  the 
like.  The  fruits  which  grow  here  are  plentiful  and  deli- 
cious, such  as  the  pineapple,  the  papaw,  theguava,  the  bon- 
annow,  and  the  like  ;  but  they  are  not  for  the  servants  and 
the  slaves.  The  fertility  of  the  country  is  truly  astonish- 
ing ;  and  the  air,  though  full  of  moisture,  whereby  knives 
and  tools  of  all  kind  quickly  rust  and  spoil,  is  considered 
more  healthy  than  that  of  any  other  West  Indian  island. 
But  for  the  poor  creatures  who  have  to  toil  in  the  hot  sun  the 
air  is  full  of  fatigue  and  thirst ;  it  is  laden  with  fevers,  cal- 
entures, and  sunstrokes.  Death  is  always  in  their  midst ; 
and  after  death,  whatever  awaits  them  cannot  be  much 
worse  than  their  condition  on  the  island. 

After  the  sale  was  finished  the  captain  bade  me  farewell 
with  tears  in  his  eyes,  and  we  were  taken  into  boats  and  con- 
veyed ashore,  I,  for  my  part,  sitting  beside  my  purchaser, 
who  addressed  no  word  at  all  to  me.  I  was,  however, 
pleased  to  find  that  among  the  people  whom  he  had  bought 
was  the  girl  Deb,  who  had  been  my  maid  (if  a  woman  who 
is  a  convict  may  have  a  maid  who  is  a  sister  convict). 
When  we  landed  we  walked  from  the  quay  or  landing-place 
to  a  great  building  like  a  barn,  which  is  called  a  barracoon, 
in  which  are  lodged  the  negro  slaves  and  servants  before 
they  go  to  their  masters.  But  at  this  time  it  was  empty. 
Hither  came  presently  a  certain  important  person  in  a  great 
wig  and  a  black  coat,  followed  by  two  negro  beadles,  and 
carrying  a  long  cane  or  stick.  After  commanding  silence, 
this  officer  read  to  us  in  a  loud  voice  those  laws  of  the 
colony  which  concern  servants,  and  especially  those  who, 
like  ourselves,  are  transported  for  various  offences.  I  for- 
get what  those  laws  were,  but  they  seemed  to  be  of  a  cruel 
and  vindictive  nature,  and  all  ended  with  flogging  and  ex- 
tension of  the  term  of  service.  I  remember,  for  instance, 
because  the  thought  of  escape  from  a  place  in  the  middle  of 
the  ocean  seemed  to  me  mad,  that,  by  the  law,  if  any  one 
should  be  caught  endeavoring  to  run  away  he  should  be  first 
flogged,  and  then  made  to  serve  three  years  after  his  term 
>fas  expired,  and  that  no  ship  was  allowed  to  trade  withtb(« 


FOR  FAITH  AXD  FREEDOM.  i6* 

Island,  or  to  put  in  for  water,  unless  the  captain  had  given 
security  with  two  inhabitants  of  the  island  in  the  sum  of 
£2,000  sterling  not  to  carry  off  any  servant  without  the 
owner's  consent. 

When  these  laws  had  been  read  the  officer  proceeded,  further 
to  inform  us  that  those  who  were  thus  sent  out  were  sent  to 
workasapunishment ;  thatthe  work  would  be  hard,  not  light; 
and  that  those  who  shirked  their  M^ork,  or  were  negligent  in 
their  work,  would  be  reminded  of  their  duties  in  the  manner 
common  to  plantations  ;  that  if  they  tried  to  run  away  they 
would  most  certainly  be  caught,  because  the  island  was  but 
small  ;  and  that  when  they  were  caught,  not  only  would 
their  term  of  years  be  increased,  but  that  they  would  most 
certainly  receive  a  dreadful  number  of  lashes.  He  added, 
further,  that  as  nothing  would  be  gained  by  malingering, 
sulking,  or  laziness,  so  on  the  other  hand  our  lot  might  be 
lightened  by  cheerfulness,  honesty,  and  zeal.  A  more  surly, 
ill-conditioned  crew  I  think  he  must  have  never  before  ha- 
rangued. They  listened,  and  on  most  faces  I  read  the  deter- 
mination to  do  no  more  work  than  was  forced  from  them. 
This  is,  I  have  learned,  how  the  plantation  servants  do  com- 
monly begin  ;  but  the  most  stubborn  spirit  is  not  proof 
against  the  lash  and  starvation.  Therefore,  before  many 
days  they  are  as  active  and  as  zealous  as  can  be  desired, 
and  the  white  men,  even  in  the  fields,  will  do  double  the 
work  that  can  be  got  out  of  the  black. 

Then  this  officer  went  away,  followed  by  his  beadles, 
who  cast  eyes  of  regret  upon  us,  as  if  longing  to  stay  and 
exercise  their  wands  of  office  upon  the  prisoners'  backs. 
This  done,  we  were  ordered  to  march  out.  My  master's 
horse  was  waiting  for  him,  led  by  a  negro,  and  two  of  his 
overseers,  also  mounted,  and  carrying  whips  in  their  hands, 
waited  his  commands.  He  spoke  with  them  a  few  minutes, 
and  then  rode  away. 

They  brought  a  long  cart,  with  a  kind  of  tilt  to  it,  drawn 
by  two  asses  (here  they  call  them  asscncgoes),  and  invited 
me  courteously  to  get  into  it.  It  was  loaded  with  cases 
and  boxes,  and  a  negro  walked  beside  the  beasts.  Then  we 
set  out  upon  our  march.  First  walked  tlic  twenty  servants, 
men  and  women,  newly  bought  by  the  master  ;  after  them, 
or  at  their  side,  rode  the  overseers,  roughly  calling  on  the 
laggards  to  quicken  their  pace,  and  cracking  their  whips 
horribly.  Then  came  the  cart  in  which  I  sat.  The  sun  was 
high  in  the  heavens,  for  it  was  not  more  than  three  of  the 
clock  ;  the  road  was  white,  and  covered  with  dust;  andthQ 


2(t(,  I'OA'  FAITH  AKD  1-REkDOM. 

distance  was  about  six  or  seven  miles,  and  we  went  slovvl)^ 
so  that  it  was  already  nigh  unto  sunset  when  we  arrived  at 
the  master's  estate. 

Thus  was  I,  a  gentlewoman  born,  sold  in  the  island  of 
Barbadoes  for  a  slave.  Sixty  pounds  the  price  I  fetched. 
Oh,  even  now,  when  it  is  all  past  long  since,  I  remember 
still  with  shame  how  I  stood  upon  the  quarter-deck,  my 
hood  thrown  back,  while  all  those  men  gazed  upon  me,  and 
jiassed  their  ribald  jests,  and  cried  the  money  they  would 
give  for  me. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

THE    FIRST   DAY    OF    SERVITUDE. 

Thus  began  my  captivity.  Thus  I  began  to  sit  beside  the 
waters  of  Babylon,  more  wretched  than  the  daughters  of 
Zion,  because  they  wept  together  while  I  wept  alone.  I 
looked  for  no  release  or  escape  until  the  Lord  should  merci- 
fully please  to  call  me  away  by  opening  the  gate  of  death. 
For  even  if  I  were  released,  if  by  living  out  the  ten  years  of 
servitude  I  could  claim  my  freedom,  of  what  use  would  it 
be  to  me?  Whither  could  I  fly  .-*  Where  hide  myself  .^  Yet 
you  shall  hear,  if  you  will  read,  how  a  way,  terrible  at  first 
and  full  of  peril,  was  unexpectedly  opened,  and  in  what  a 
strange  manner  was  wrought  my  deliverance. 

We  arrived  at  our  new  master's  estate,  which  was,  as  I 
have  said,  about  seven  miles  from  the  port,  towards  sun- 
down. We  were  marched  (rather  driven)  to  a  kind  of  vil- 
lage, consisting  of  a  double  row  of  huts  or  cottages,  forming 
a  broad  street,  in  the  middle  of  which  there  were  planted  a 
large  number  of  the  fruit-trees  named  here  bonannows  (they 
are  a  kind  of  plantain).  The  green  fruit  was  hanging  in 
clusters,  as  yet  unripe,  but  the  leaves,  which  are  also  the 
branches,  being  for  the  most  part  blown  into  long  shreds  or 
rags  by  the  wind,  had  an  untidy  appearance.  The  cottages 
looked  more  like  pigsties  for  size  and  shape  ;  they  were 
built  of  sticks,  withes,  and  plantain-leaves  both  for  sides 
and  for  roof.  Chimneys  had  they  none,  nor  windows  ; 
some  of  them  had  no  door,  but  an  opening  only.  Thus  are 
housed  the  servants  and  the  slaves  of  a  plantation.  The 
furniture  within  is   such  as  the  occupants  contrive.     Some- 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  267 

times  there  is  a  hammock  or  a  pallet,  with  grass  mats  and 
rugs  ;  there  are  some  simple  platters  and  basins  ;  in  each 
hut  there  are  two,  three,  or  four  occupants. 

Here  let  me,  in  brief,  make  an  end  of  describing  the  build- 
ings on  this  estate,  which  were,  I  suppose,  like  those  of 
every  other.  If  you  were  to  draw  a  great  square  on  which 
to  lay  down  or  figure  the  buildings,  you  would  have  in  one 
corner  the  street,  or  village  of  the  people  ;  next  to  the  village 
lies  the  great  pond  which  serves  for  drinking  water  as  well 
as  for  washing  ;  the  negroes  are  fond  of  swimming  and 
bathing  in  it,  and  they  say  that  the  water  is  not  fouled  there- 
by, which  I  could  not  understand.  In  the  opposite  corner 
you  must  place  the  ingenio,  or  house  where  the  sugar-canes 
are  brought  to  be  crushed  and  ground  and  the  sugar  is 
made  ;  there  are  all  kinds  of  machines  with  great  wheels, 
small  wheels,  cogs,  gutters  for  running  the  juice,  and  con- 
trivances which  I  cannot  remember.  Some  of  the  ingenios 
are  workedby  a  wind-mill,  others  by  horses  and  assenegoes  ; 
there  is  in  every  one  a  still,  where  they  make  that  fiery 
spirit  which  they  call  kill-devil.  Near  the  ingenio  are  the 
stables,  where  there  are  horses,  oxen,  assenegoes,  and  the 
curious  beast,  spoken  of  in  Holy  Writ,  called  the  camel. <  It 
hath  been  brought  here  from  Africa,  and  is  much  used  for 
carrying  the  sugar.  The  open  space  around  the  ingenio  is 
generally  covered  and  strewn  with  trash,  which  is  the 
crushed  stalk  of  the  cane  ;  it  always  gives  forth  a  sour  smell 
(as  if  fermenting)  which  I  cannot  think  to  be  wholesome. 
In  the  fourth  corner  is  the  planter's  house.  Considering  that 
these  people  sometimes  grow  so  rich  that  they  come  home 
and  buy  great  estates,  it  is  wonderful  that  they  should  con- 
sent to  live  in  houses  so  mean  and  paltry.  They  are  of 
wood,  with  roofs  so  low  that  one  can  hardly  stand  upright 
in  them  ;  and  the  people  are  so  afraid  of  the  cool  wind  which 
blows  from  the  east  that  they  have  neither  doors  nor  win- 
dows oil  that  side,  but  will  have;  them  all  towards  the  west, 
whence  cometh  the  chief  heat  of  tne  sun,  namely,  the  after- 
noon heat.  Their  furniture  is  rude,  and  they  have  neither 
tapestry  nor  wainscoted  walls,  nor  any  kind  of  ornament. 
Yet  they  live  always  in  the  greatest  luxury,  eating  and  drink- 
ing of  the  best.  Some  of  the  houses  (my  master's  among 
them)  have  an  open  veranda,  as  they  call  it — in  Somerset- 
shire we  should  call  it  a  linney — running  round  three  sides 
of  the  house,  with  coarse  canvas  curtains  which  can  be  let 
down  so  as  to  keep  out  the  sun,  or  drawn  up  to  admit  the 
air.     But  their  way  of  living,  though  they  eat  and  drink  of 


•  268  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

the  best,  is  rude  even  compared  with  that  of  our  farmers  al 
home  ;  and  a  thriving  tradesman,  say  of  Taunton,  would 
scorn  to  live  in  such  a  house  as  contenteth  a  wealthy  planter 
of  Barbadoes.  Behind  the  house  was  a  spacious  garden  in 
which  grew  all  kmds  of  fruits  and  vegetables,  and  all  round 
the  buildings,  on  every  side,  stretched  the  broad  fields  of 
sugar-canes,  which  when  they  are  in  their  flower,  or  blos- 
som of  gray  and  silver,  wave  in  the  wind  more  beautifully 
than  even  a  field  of  barley  in  England. 

On  the  approach  of  our  party,  and  the  voices  of  the  over- 
seers, a  gentlewoman  (so  at  least  she  seemed)  came  out  of 
the  house,  and  stood  upon  the  veranda  shading  her  eyes  and 
looking  at  the  gang  of  wretches.  She  was  dressed  splendid- 
ly in  a  silken  gown  and  flowered  petticoat,  as  if  she  were  a 
very  great  lady  indeed  ;  over  her  head  lay  a  kerchief  of  rich 
black  lace  ;  round  her  neck  was  a  gold  chain.  When  she 
slowly  descended  the  steps  of  the  veranda  and  walked  to- 
wards us,  I  observed  that  she  was  of  a  darker  skin  than  is 
customary  to  find  at  home ;  it  was,  indeed,  somewhat  like 
the  skin  of  the  gypsy  people  ;  her  features  were  straight  and 
regular  ;  her  hair  was  quite  black  ;  her  eyes  were  also  black 
and  large,  shaped  like  almonds.  On  her  wrists  were  heavy 
gold  bracelets,  and  her  fingers  were  loaded  with  rings.  She 
seemed  about  thirty  years  of  age  ;  she  was  a  woman  of  tall 
and  fine  presence,  and  she  stood  and  moved  as  if  she  were 
a  queen.  She  presently  came  forth  from  the  veranda  and 
walked  across  the  yartl  towards  us. 

"Let  me  look  at  them — your  new  batch,"  she  said,  speak- 
ing languidly,  and  with  an  accent  somewhat  foreign. 
"How  many  are  there.-'  Where  do  they  come  from? 
Who  is  this  one,  for  instance }  She  took  the  girl  named 
Deb  by  the  chin,  and  looked  at  her  as  if  she  were  some 
animal  to  be  sold  in  the  market.  "A  stout  wench,  truly. 
What  was  she  over  there  .? " 

The  overseer  read  the  name  and  the  crimes  of  the  prisoner. 
Madam  (this  was  the  only  name  by  which  I  knew  her) 
pushed  her  away  disdainfully. 

"Well,"  she  said,  "she  will  find  companions  enough 
here.  I  hope  she  will  work  without  the  whip.  Hark  ye, 
girl,"  she  added,  with,  I  think,  kindly  interest,  "  it  goes 
still  to  my  heart  when  I  hear  that  the  women  have  been 
trounced,  but  the  work  must  be  done.  Remember  that. 
And  who  are  those.''  and  those.''  "  She  pointed  with  con- 
tempt to  the  poor  creatures  covered  with  dirt  and  dust,  and 
in  the   ragg^ed,   miserabU*  clothes   they  had   worn   all   the 


I-OR  FAITH  AXD  FREEDOM.  ^69 

Voyage.  "Street  sweepings,  rogues,  and  thieves,  all.  Let 
them  know,"  she  said,  grandly,  "what  awaits  those  who 
skulk,  and  those  who  thieve.  And  whom  have  we  here  .''  " 
She  turned  to  me.  "Is  this  some  fine  city  madam,  fresh 
from  Bridewell .-'  " 

"This  prisoner, "  said  the  overseer,  "is  described  as  a 
rebel  in  the  late  Monmouth  rising." 

"A  rebel.''  truly.?"  she  asked  with  curiosity.  "Were 
Monmouth's  soldiers  women.-*  We  heard  by  the  last  ship 
something  of  this.  Madam,  I  know  not  why  you  must 
needs  become  a  rebel,  but,  this,  look  you,  is  no  place  for 
gentlewomen  to  sit  down  and  fold  their  arms." 

"Madam,"  I  replied,  "I  look  for  nothing  less  than  to 
work,  being  now  a  convict,  though  I  was  never  tried  and 
condemned — I  know  not  by  whom — to  transportation  in 
his  majesty's  plantations." 

"  Let  me  look  at  your  hands,"  she  said,  sharply.  "  Why, 
of  what  use  are  those  little  fingers  1  they  have  never  done 
any  work;  and  your  face — prithee,  turn  back  your  hood." 
I  obeyed,  and  her  eyes  suddenly  softened.  Lideed,  I  looked 
not  for  this  sign  of  compassion,  and  my  own  tears  began  to 
flow.  " 'Tis  a  shame  !  "  she  cried.  "'Tis  a  burning  shame 
to  send  so  young  a  woman,  a  gentlewoman,  and  one  with 
such  a  face  to  the  plantations!  Have  they  no  bowels.' 
Child,  who  put  thee  aboard  the  ship  .?  " 

"I  was  brought  on  board  by  one  ]\Ir.  Penne,  who  de- 
ceived me  promising  that  I  should  be  taken  to  New  England 
where  I  have  cousins. '' 

"We  will  speak  of  this  presently.  Meantime  since  we 
must  by  the  law  find  you  some  work  to  do — can  you  sew  .''  " 

"Yes,  madam,  I  can  perform  any  kind  of  needlework 
from  plain  sewing  to  embroidery." 

"What  mean  they,"  she  cried  again,  "by  sending  a 
helpless  girl  alone  with  such  a  crew  }  The  very  Spaniards 
of  whom  they  talk  so  much  would  blush  for  such  barbarity. 
They  would  send  her  to  a  convent  where  the  good  nuns 
would  treat  her  kindly.  Well,  madam  or  miss,  thou  art 
bought,  and  the  master  may  not,  by  law,  release  you.  But 
there  is  a  way  of  which  we  will  talk  presently.  Mean- 
while, thou  canst  sit  in  the  sewing-room  where  we  may 
find  thee  work. " 

"I  thanked  her;  she  would  have  said  more.  But  there 
came  forth  from  the  house  witli  staggering  step  the  man 
who  had  bought  us.  He  had  now  put  off  his  wig  and  his 
scarlet  coat,  and  wore  a  white  dressing-gown  and  a  lincu 


if  POR  PAlTIi  A.K'D  PKEEDOM. 

night-cap.  He  had  in  his  hand  a  whip,  which  he  cracked 
as  he  walked. 

"Child,"  said  madam,  quickly,  "pulldown  your  hood. 
Hide  your  face.  He  hath  been  drinking  and  at  such  times 
he  is  dangerous.  Let  him  never  set  eyes  upon  thee  save 
when  he  is  sober. 

He  came  rolling  and  staggering,  yet  not  so  drunk  but  he 
could  speak,  though  his  voice  was  thick. 

"Oho  !"  he  cried.  "Here  are  the  new  servants.  Stand 
up  every  man  and  woman.  Stand  up,  I  say. "  Here  he 
cracked  his  whip,  and  they  obeyed,  trembling.  But  madam 
placed  herself  in  front  of  me.  "Let  me  look  at  ye." 
He  walked  along  the  line  calling  the  unhappy  creatures 
vile  and  foul  names.  Oh,  shame  thus  to  mock  their  misery  ! 
"What !  "  he  cried.  "  you  think  you  have  come  to  a  country 
where  there  is  nothing  to  do  but  lie  on  your  backs  and  eat 
turtle  and  drink  mobbie  ;  what  !  You  shall  find  out  your 
mistake!"  Here  he  cracked  his  whip  again,  "  You  shall 
work  all  day  in  the  field,  not  because  you  like  it,  but  because 
you  must.  For  your  food  it  shall  be  lobloUie,  and  for  your 
drink  water  from  the  pond.  What,  I  say !  Those  who 
skulk  shall  learn  that  the  Newgate  cat  is  tender  compared 
with  her  brother  of  Barbadoes.  Tremble,  therefore,  ye 
devils,  all,  tremble  !  " 

They  trembled  visibly.  All  were  now  subdued.  Those 
of  them  who  swaggered,  the  dare-devil  reckless  blades, 
when  first  we  sailed,  were  now  transformed  into  cowardly, 
trembling  wretches,  all  half  starved,  and  some  reduced 
with  fevers,  with  no  more  spirit  left  than  enabled  them  still 
to  curse  and  swear.  The  feeblest  of  mortals,  the  lowest  of 
human  wretches,  has  still  left  so  much  of  strength  and  will 
that  he  can  sink  his  immortal  soul  lower  still  ;  a  terrible 
power,  truly. 

Then  madam  drew  me  aside,  gently,  and  led  me  to  a 
place  like  a  barn  where  many  women,  white  and  black,  sat 
sewing,  and  a  great  quantity  of  little  black  babies  and  naked 
children  played  about  under  their  charge.  The  white 
women  were  sad  and  silent ;  the  blacks,  I  saw  with  sur- 
prise, were  all  chattering  and  laughing.  The  negro  is 
happy  if  he  have  enough  to  eat  and  drink,  whether  he  be 
slave  or  free.  Madam  sat  down  upon  a  bench  and  caused 
me  to  sit  beside  her. 

"Tell  me,"  she  said,  kindly,  "what  this  means.  When 
did  women  begin  to  rebel .?  If  men  are  such  fools  as  to  go 
forth  and  fight,  let  them  ;  but  for  women — " 


I'VK  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  471 

"Indeed,"  I  told  her,    "  I  did  not  fight." 

Then  nothing  would  do  but  I  must  tell  her  all  from  the 
beginning — my  name,  my  family,  and  my  history.  But  I 
told  her  nothing  about  my  marriage. 

"So,"  she  said,  "you  have  lost  father,  mother,  brother, 
lover,  and  friends  by  this  pretty  business,  and  all  because 
they  will  not  suffer  the  king  to  worship  in  his  own  way. 
Well,  'tis  hard  for  you.  To  be  plain,  it  may  be  harder  than 
you  think,  or  I  can  help.  You  have  been  bought  for  sixty 
pounds,  and  that  not  for  any  profit  that  your  work  will  bring 
to  the  estate,  because  such. as  you  are  but  a  loss  and  a  burden, 
but  only  in  the  hope  that  your  friends  will  pay  a  great 
sum  for  ransom." 

"  Madam,  I  have  indeed  no  friends  left  who  can  do  this 
for  me. " 

"If  so,  it  is  indeed  unfortunate.  For  presently  the  mas- 
ter will  look  for  letters  on  your  behalf,  and  if  none  come,  I 
know  not  what  he  may  threaten  or  what  he  may  do.  But 
think — try  to  find  some  one.  Consider,  your  lot  here  must 
be  hard  at  best,  whereas  if  you  are  released  you  can  live 
where  you  please  ;  you  may  even  marry  whom  you  please, 
because  beautiful  young  gentlewomen  like  yourself  are 
scarce  indeed  in  Barbadoes.  'Tis  Christian  charity  to  set  you 
free.  Remember,  child,  that  money  will  do  here  what  I 
suppose  it  will  do  anywhere.  All  are  slaves  to  money. 
You  have  six  months  before  you  in  which  to  write  to  your 
friends  and  to  receive  an  answer.  If  in  that  time  nothing 
comes,  I  tell  thee  again,  child,  that  I  know  not  what  will 
happen.  As  for  the  life  in  the  fields,  it  would  kill  thee  in  a 
week." 

"Perhaps,  if  the  Lord  so  wills,"  I  replied,  helplessly, 
"that  may  be  best.  Friends  have  I  none  now,  nor  any 
whom  I  could  ask  for  help,  save  the  Lord  alone.  I  will 
ask  for  work  in  the  fields. " 

"Perhaps  he  may  forget  thee,"  she  said,  meaning  the 
master.  "But  no;  a  man  who  hath  once  seen  thy  face 
will  never  forget  thee.  My  dear,  he  told  me  when  he  came 
home  that  he  had  bought  a  woman  whose  beauty  will  set 
the  island  in  flames.  Pray  Heaven  he  come  not  near  thee 
when  he  is  in  liquor.  Hide  that  face,  child,  hide  that  face. 
Let  him  never  see  thee.  Oh,  there  are  dangers  worse  than 
labor  in  the  fields,  worse  than  whip  of  overseer."  She 
sprang  to  her  feet  and  clasped  her  hands.  "You  talk  of 
the  Lord's  will !  What  hath  the  Lord  to  do  with  this  place? 
Here  is  nothing  but  debauchery  and  drinking,  cruelty  and 


I^J  FOR  FAITH  AND  FR£:&Jt>OM. 

greed.      Why  have  they    sent   here  a  woman  who    prays  ?  ** 

Then  she  sat  down  again  and  took  my  hand. 

•' Tender  maid, "  she  said,  "  thy  face  is  exactly  such  aa 
the  face  of  a  certain  saint ;  'tis  in  a  picture  which  hangs  in 
the  chapel  of  the  convent  where  the  good  nuns  brought  me 
up  long  ago,  before  I  came  to  this  place — long  ago.  Yes, 
I  forget  the  name  of  the  saint  ;  thou  hast  her  face.  She 
stood,  in  the  picture,  surrounded  by  soldiers  who  had  red 
hair,  and  looked  like  devils — English  devils,  the  nuns  said. 
Her  eyes  were  raised  to  heaven  and  she  prayed.  But  what 
was  done  unto  her  I  know  not,  because  there  was  no  other 
picture.  Now  she  sits  upon  a  throne  in  the  presence  of  the 
mother  of  God. " 

The  tears  stood  in  her  great  black  eyes.  I  take  it  that  she 
was  thinking  of  the  days  when  she  was  young. 

"Well,  we  must  keep  thee  out  of  his  way.  While  he  is 
sober  he  listens  to  reason,  and  thinks  continually  upon  his 
estate  and  his  gains.  When  he  is  drunk  no  one  can  hold 
him,  and  reason  is  lost  upon  him.'' 

She  presently  brought  me  a  manchet  of  white  bread  and  a 
glass  of  Madeira  wine,  and  then  told  me  that  she  would 
give  me  the  best  cottage  that  the  estate  possessed,  and  for 
my  better  protection  another  woman  to  share  it  with  me.  I 
thanked  her  again,  and  asked  that  I  might  have  the  girl 
called  Deb,  which  she  readily  granted. 

And  so  my  first  day  of  servitude  ended  in  thus  nappily 
finding  a  protector.  As  for  the  cottage,  it  was  a  poor  thing, 
but  it  had  a  door  and  a  window  with  a  shutter.  The  furniture 
was  a  pallet  with  two  thick  rugs  and  nothing  more.  INIy 
condition  was  desperate  indeed,  but  yet,  had  I  considered,  I 
had  been  so  far  most  mercifully  protected.  I  was  shipped 
as  a  convict  (it  is  true)  by  a  treacherous  villain,  but  on  the 
ship  I  found  a  compassionate  captain  who  saved  me  from 
the  company  among  whom  I  must  otherwise  have  dwelt. 
I  was  sold  to  a  drunken  and  greedy  planter,  but  I  found  a 
compassionate  woman  who  promised  to  do  what  she  could. 
And  I  had  for  my  companion  the  woman  who  had  become 
a  most  faithful  maid  to  me  upon  the  voyage,  and  who  still 
continued  in  her  fidehty  and  her  love.  And  greater  mercit* 
yet  were  in  store,  as  you  shall  see. 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM  373 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

BY   THE    WATERS    OF    BABYLON. 

Thus  delivered  from  the  slavery  of  the  fields,  I  began  to 
work,  an  unprofitable  servant,  among  those  who  made  and 
mended  the  garments  of  the  servants  and  negroes.  On  an 
estate  so  large  as  this  there  is  always  plenty  to  be  done  by 
the  seamstresses  and  needlewomen.  Thus,  to  every  woman 
is  given  by  the  year  four  smocks,  two  petticoats,  and  four 
coifs,  besides  shoes,  which  are  brought  from  England  by 
the  ships.  Those  who  wait  in  the  house  have,  in  addition, 
six  smocks  and  three  waistcoats.  To  the  men  are  given  six 
shirts  ;  and  to  every  man  and  woman  a  rug  or  gown  of  thick 
stuff  to  cast  about  them  when  they  come  home  hot,  so  thai 
they  may  not  catch  cold,  a  thing  which  throws  many  into  a 
fever.  All  these  things  have  to  be  made  and  mended  on  the 
estate. 

As  for  the  children,  the  little  blacks,  they  run  about  with- 
out clothing,  their  black  skin  sufficing.  The  women  who 
are  engaged  upon  the  work  of  sewing  are  commonly  those 
of  the  white  servants  who  are  not  strong  enough  for  the 
weeding  and  hoeing  in  the  fields,  or  are  old  and  past  hard 
work.  Yet  the  stuff  of  which  the  smocks  and  shirts  is  made 
is  so  coarse  that  it  tore  the  skin  from  my  fingers,  which, 
when  madam  saw,  she  brought  me  fine  work,  namely,  for 
herself.  She  was  also  so  good  as  to  provide  me  with  ci 
change  of  clothes,  of  which  I  stood  sadly  in  need,  and  ex- 
cused my  wearing  the  dress  of  the  other  women.  I  hope 
that  I  am  not  fond  of  fine  apparel  more  than  becomes  a 
modest  woman  ;  but  I  confess  that  the  thought  of  wearing 
this  livery  of  servitude,  this  coarse  and  common  dress  of 
smock,  petticoat,  and  coif,  all  of  rough  and  thick  stuff,  like 
canvas,  with  a  pair  of  shoes,  and  no  stockings,  filled  my  very 
soul  with  dismay.  None  of  the  many  acts  of  kindness 
shown  me  by  madam  was  more  gratefully  received  than 
her  present  of  clothes — not  coarse  and  rough  to  the  skin, 
nor  ugly  and  common,  befitting  prisoners  and  criminals, 
but  soft  and  pleasant  to  wear,  and  fit  for  the  heat  of  the 
climate,  'Twas  no  great  hardship,  certainly,  to  rise  early 
find  to  sit  all  day  with  needle  and  thread  in  a  ereat  room 

18 


2  74  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

well  aired.  The  company,  to  be  sure,  was  not  what  one 
would  have  chosen,  nor  was  the  language  of  the  poor  crea- 
tures who  sat  with  me — prison  and  Bridewell  birds  all  ot 
them — such  as  my  poor  mother  would  have  desired  her 
daughter  to  hear.  The  food  was  coarse,  but  I  was  often  at 
the  house  when  the  master  was  away,  and  there  madam 
would  constantly  give  me  something  from  her  own  table — ;: 
dish  of  chocolate,  rightly  called  the  Indian  nectar,  made  so 
thick  and  strong  that  a  spoon  stands  upright  in  it,  or  a  gla;  s 
of  Madeira,  if  my  cheeks  looked  paler  than  ordinary.  I  a 
this  country  the  great  heat  of  the  air  seems  to  suck  out  and 
devour  the  heat  of  the  body,  so  that  those  of  European  birth, 
if  they  are  not  nourished  on  generous  diet,  presently  fall 
into  a  decline  or  wasting  away,  as  is  continually  seen  in  the 
case  of  the  white  servants,  both  men  and  women,  who  die 
early,  and  seldom  last  more  than  five  or  six  years. 

Briefly,  madam  seemed  to  take  great  pleasure  in  my  con- 
versation, and  would  either  seek  me  in  the  workroom  or 
would  have  me  to  the  house,  asking  questions  as  to  my 
former  life.  For  herself,  I  learned  that  she  had  been  born 
in  Cuba,  and  had  been  brought  up  by  nuns  in  a  convent, 
but  how  or  why  she  came  to  this  place  I  knew  not,  nor  did 
I  ask.  Other  gentlewomen  of  the  island  I  never  saw,  and  I 
think  there  were  none  who  visited  her.  Nor  did  she  show 
kindness  to  the  women-servants  (except  to  myself),  treating 
them  all,  as  is  the  fashion  in  that  country,  as  if  they  were 
so  many  black  negroes,  not  condescending  to  more  than  a 
word  or  a  command,  and  if  this  were  disobeyed  they  knew 
very  well  what  to  expect  from  her.  But  to  me  she  continued 
throughout  to  be  kind  and  gracious,  thinking  always  how 
she  could  lighten  my  lot. 

In  this  employment,  therefore,  I  continued  with  such  con- 
tentment as  may  be  imagined,  which  was  rather  a  forcetl 
resignation  to  the  will  of  the  Lord  than  a  cheerful  heart. 
But  I  confess  that  I  looked  upon  the  lot  of  the  other  women 
with  horror,  and  was,  indeed,  thankful  that  I  was  si)ared  the 
miseries  of  those  who  go  forth  to  the  fields.  They  begin  at 
six  in  the  morning  and  work  until  eleven,  when  they  come 
home  to  dinner.  At  one  o'clock  they  go  out  again  and  re- 
turn at  sunset,  which  in  this  country  is  nearly  always  about 
half-past  six.  But  let  no  one  think  that  work  in  the  fields  in 
Barbadoes  may  be  compared  with  work  in  the  fields  at 
home.  For  in  England  there  are  cloudy  skies  and  cold, 
wintry  days  in  plenty,  but  in  Barbadoes,  save  when  the  rain 
fitlls  in  prodigious  cjuwtiUes,  the  skies  have  no  tl^uds,  b\it 


hVk  t'AITH  AXD  FREEDOM.  275 

are  clear  blue  all  the  year  round  ;  the  sun  burns  with  a  heat 
iKii'jlerable,  so  that  the  eyes  are  well-nigh  blinded,  the  head 
aches,  the  limbs  fail,  and  but  for  fear  of  the  lash  the  wretched 
toiler  would  lie  down  in  the  nearest  shade.  And  a  terrible 
thirst  (all  this  was  told  me  by  the  girl  Deb)  seizes  the  throat, 
all  day  long,  which  nothing  can  assuage  but  rest.  For  the 
least  skulking  the  whip  is  laid  on,  and  if  there  be  a  word  of 
impatience  or  murmuring  it  is  called  stark  mutiny,  for  which 
the  miserable  convict,  maia  or  woman,  is  tied  up  and  flogged 
with  a  barbarity  which  would  be  incredible  to  any  were  it 
not  for  the  memory  of  certain  floggings  in  our  own  country. 
Besitles  the  lash  they  have  also  pillory  and  the  stocks,  and 
the  overseers  carry,  in  addition  to  their  whip,  a  heavy  cane, 
with  which  they  constantly  belabor  the  slaves,  both  white 
and  black.  I  say  slaves,  because  the  white  servants  are 
nothing  less,  save  that  the  negroes  are  far  better  off,  and  re- 
ceive infinitely  better  treatment  than  the  poor  white  creatures. 
Indeed,  the  negro  being  the  absolute  property  of  his  master, 
both  he  and  his  children,  to  ill-treat  him  is  like  the  wanton 
destruction  of  cattle  on  a  farm,  whereas  there  is  no  reason 
in  making  the  convicts  last  out  more  than  the  ten  years  of 
their  servitude,  or  even  so  long,  because  many  of  them  are 
such  poor  creatures  when  they  arrive,  and  so  reduced  by  the 
miseries  of  the  voyage,  and  so  exhausted  by  the  hard  labor 
to  which  they  are  put,  that  they  bring  no  profit  to  the  master, 
but  quickly  fall  ill,  and  die  like  rotten  sheep.  Like  rotten 
sheep,  I  say,  they  die,  without  a  word  of  Christian  exhorta- 
tion, and  like  brute  creatures  who  have  no  world  to  come  are 
they  buried  in  the  ground.  Again,  the  food  served  out  to 
these  poor  people  is  not  such  as  should  be  given  to  white 
people  in  a  hot  climate.  There  is  nothing  but  water  to 
drink,  and  that  drawn  from  ponds,  because  in  Barbadoes 
there  are  few  springs  or  rivers.  It  is  true  that  the  old  hands, 
who  have  learned  how  to  manage,  contrive  to  make  plantain 
wine,  and  get,  by  hook  or  by  crook,  mobbie  (which  is  a 
strong  drink  made  from  potatoes),  or  kill-devil,  which  is  the 
wQ.\v  spirit  distilled  from  sugar.  Then,  for  solid  food,  the 
servants  are  allowed  five  pounds  of  salt  l)eef  for  each  person 
every  week,  and  this  so  hard  and  stringy  that  no  boiling  will 
make  it  soft  enough  for  the  teeth.  Sometimes,  instead  of  the 
beef,  they  have  as  much  salt  fish,  for  the  most  part  stinking  ; 
with  this,  aportion  of  ground  Indian  corn,  which  is  made  into' 
akinii  of  porridge,  and  called  loblollie.  This  is  the  slai)le  of 
the  food,  and  there  are  no  rustics  at  home  who  do  not  live 
better  and  have  more  nourishing;  food. 


27<  i'OR  FAITH  AXD  F/iJS£DOM, 

I  do  not  deny  that  the  convicts  are  for  the  most  part  a 
most  horrid  crew,  who  deserve  to  suffer  if  any  men  ever  did  ; 
but  it  was  sad  to  see  how  the  faces  of  the  people  were 
pinched  with  hunger  and  wasted  with  the  daily  fatigues,  and 
how  their  hollow  eyes  were  full  of  despair.  Whatever  their 
sins  may  have  been,  they  were  at  least  made  in  God's  own 
image ;  no  criminal,  however  wicked,  should  have  been 
used  with  such  barbarity  as  was  w-reaked  upon  the  people  of 
this  estate.  The  overseers  were  chosen  (being  themselves 
also  convicts)  for  their  hardness  of  heart.  Nay,  did  they 
show  the  least  kindness  towards  the  poor  creatures  whom 
they  drove  they  would  themselves  be  forced  to  lay  dowm  the 
whip  of  office  and  to  join  the  gang  of  those  who  toiled. 
And  over  them  was  the  master,  zealous  to  exact  the  last 
ounce  of  strength  from  the  creatures  whom  he  had  bought. 
Did  the  good  people  of  Bristol  who  buy  the  sugar  and  mo- 
lasses and  tobacco  of  the  Indies  know  or  understand  the 
tears  of  despair  and  the  sweat  of  agony  which  are  forced 
with  every  pound  of  sugar,  they  would  abhor  the  trade 
which  makes  them  rich. 

The  companion  of  my  sleeping-hut,  the  girl  Deb,  was  a 
great,  strapping  wench,  who  bade  fair  to  outlast  her  ten 
years  of  servitude,  even  under  the  treatment  to  which,  with 
the  rest,  she  was  daily  subjected.  And  partly  because  she 
was  strong  and  active,  partly  because  she  had  a  certain  kind 
of  beauty  (the  kind  which  belongs  to  the  rustic  and  is  ac- 
companied by  good-humor  and  laughter),  she  would  per- 
haps have  done  well,  as  some  of  the  women  do,  and  ended 
by  marrying  an  overseer,  but  for  events  which  presently 
happened.  Yet,  strong  as  she  was,  there  was  no  evening 
when  she  did  not  return  worn  out  with  fatigue,  her  cheeks 
burning,  her  limbs  weary,  yet  happy  because  she  had  one 
more  day  escaped  the  lash,  and  had  the  night  before  her  in 
which  to  rest.  If  it  is  worth  noting,  the  women  were  from 
the  outset  the  most  willing  workers  and  the  most  eager  to 
satisfy  their  taskmasters  ;  the  men,  on  the  other  hand,  went 
sullen  and  downcast,  thinking  only  how  to  escape  the  over- 
seer's whip,  and  going  through  the  work  with  angry  and 
revengeful  eyes.  I  think  that  some  great  mutiny  might  have 
happened  upon  this  estate — some  wild  revenge — so  desper- 
ate were  these  poor  creatures,  and  so  horrible  were  the  scourg- 
ings  they  endured  and  the  shrieks  and  cursings  which  they 
uttered.     Let  me  not  speak  of  these  things. 

There  are  other  things  which  make  a  residence  in  Barba- 
does,  even  to  the  wealthy,  full  of  annoyances  and  irritations. 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  zjf 

The  place  is  filled  with  cockroaches,  great  spiders,  horrid 
scorpions,  centipedes,  and  lizards.  There  are  ants  which 
swarm  everywhere,  and  there  are  clouds  of  flies  ;  and  at 
night  there  are  mosquitoes  and  merrywings,  which  by  their 
bites  have  been  known  to  drive  new-comers  into  fever,  or 
else  into  a  kind  of  madness. 

In  the  evenings,  after  supper,  there  reigned  a  melancholy 
silence  in  the  village,  the  people  for  the  most  part  taking 
rest  with  weary  limbs.  Sometimes  there  would  be  a  quarrel, 
with  horrid  oaths  and  curses,  and  perhaps  some  fighting. 
But  these  occasions  were  rare. 

From  the  house  there  came  often  the  noise  of  singing, 
drinking,  and  loud  talking  when  other  planters  would  ride 
over  for  a  drinking-bout.  There  was  also  sometimes  to  be 
heard  the  music  of  the  theorbo,  upon  which  madam  played 
very  sweetly,  singing  Spanish  songs  ;  so  that  it  seemed  a 
pity  for  music  so  sweet  to  be  thrown  away  upon  this  selfish 
crew.  It  made  me  think  of  Humphrey  and  of  the  sweet 
and  holy  thoughts  which  he  would  put  into  rhymes,  and 
then  fit  the  rhymes  with  music  which  seemed  to  breathe 
those  very  thoughts.  Alas  !  in  the  village  of  Bradford  Orcas 
there  would  be  now  silence  and  desolation  :  the  good  old 
squire  was  dead ;  my  father  dead  ;  the  young  men  sent  to 
the  plantations  ;  no  one  left  at  all  but  the  rector  and  madam, 
his  sister-in-law  ;  and  I,  alas  !  a  slave.  Perchance  at  that 
moment  the  rector  might  be  slowly  drawing  his  bow  across 
the  strings  of  his  violoncello,  thinking  of  those  who  formerly 
played  with  him  ;  or  perhaps  he  would  be  sorrowfully  taking 
out  his  cases  and  gazing  for  a  little  consolation  upon  the  figures 
of  his  goddesses  and  his  nymphs — only  to  think  of  the  place 
and  of  those  who  once  lived  there  tore  my  poor  heart  to 
pieces. 

One  evening,  when  there  was  a  great  noise  and  talking 
at  the  house,  while  we  were  sitting  upon  our  beds,  with  no 
other  light  than  that  of  the  moon,  madam  herself  came  to 
the  cottage. 

"Child,"  she  said,  "  nothing  will  do  but  that  the  gentle- 
men must  see  thy  beauty.  Nay,  no  harm  shall  happen 
while  I  am  there.  So  much  they  know.  But  he  hath  so 
bragged  about  thy  beauty,  and  the  great  price  he  will  de- 
mand for  ransom,  that  the  rest  are  mad  to  see  thee.  I  swear 
that  not  the  least  rudeness  shall  be  offered  thee.  They  are 
drinking,  it  is  true,  but  they  are  not  yet  drunk.     Come." 

So  I  arose  and  followed  her.  First  she  took  me  to  her 
OWh  room,  where  she  took  off  my  hood  and  threw  over  HK 


278  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

a  long  white  lace  mantilla,  which  covered  my  head  and  fell 
over  my  shoulders  and  below  the  waist 

See  sighed  as  she  looked  me. 

"  Poor  innocent  !  "  she  said,  "  if  money  could  buy  thai 
face  there  is  not  a  man  in  the  room  but  would  give  all  he 
hath  and  count  it  gain.     Canst  thou  play  or  sing?" 

I  told  her  that  I  had  some  knowledge  of  the  theorbo. 
Therefore  she  brought  me  hers,  and  bade  me  sing  to  the 
gentlemen  and  then  retire  quickly.  So  I  followed  her  into 
the  living  or  keeping  room,  where  a  dozen  gentlemen  were 
sitting  round  the  table.  A  bowl  of  punch  was  on  the  table, 
and  every  man  had  his  glass  before  him  and  a  pipe  of  to- 
bacco in  his  hand.  Some  of  their  faces  were  flushed  with 
wine. 

"Gentlemen,"  said  madam,  "  our  prisoner  hath  consented 
to  sing  one  song  to  you,  after  which  she  will  ask  permis- 
sion to  bid  you  good-night. " 

So  they  all  clapped  their  hands  and  rapped  the  table,  and 
I,  being  indeed  terrified,  but  knowing  very  well  that  to  show 
fear  would  be  the  worst  thing  I  could  do,  touched  the 
strings  and  began  my  song.  I  sang  the  song  which 
Humphrey  made,  and  which  he  sang  to  the  officers  at 
Taunton  when  the  duke  was  there. 

When  I  finished  I  gave  back  the  theorbo  to  madam,  courte- 
sied  to  the  gentlemen,  and  quickly  stepped  back  to  madam's 
room,  while  they  all  bellowed  and  applauded,  and  roared 
for  me  to  come  back  again.  But  I  put  on  my  hood  and 
slipped  out  to  the  cottage,  where  I  lay  down  beside  Deb 
and  quickly  fell  asleep.  (It  is  a  great  happiness  in  these 
hot  latitudes  that  when  a  new-comer  hath  once  got  over 
the  trouble  of  the  merrywings  he  falleth  asleep  the  moment 
he  lies  down,  and  so  sleeps  through  the  whole  night.) 

But  in  the  morning  madam  came  to  see  me  while  I  was 
sewing. 

"  Well,  child,"  she  said,  laughing,  "  thou  hast  gotten  a 
lover  who  swears  that  he  will  soon  have  thee  out  of  this  hell. ' 

"  A  lover  ! "  I  cried.      "  Nay  ;  that  may  God  forbid  ! '' 

"  'Tis  true.  Young  Mr.  Anstiss  it  is.  While  thou  wast 
singing  he  gazed  on  thy  pretty  face  and  listened  as  one 
enchanted.  I  wonder — but  no,  thou  hast  no  eyes  for  such 
things.  And  when  thou  wast  gone  he  offered  the  master 
four  times  the  sum  he  paid  for  thee  ;  yea,  four  times,  or  six 
times,  saying  that  he  meant  honorably,  and  that  if  any  man 
dared  to  whisper  anything  to  the  contrary  he  would  cut  his 
throat, " 


hOR  FAITH  AXn  FREEDOM. 


279 


"  Alas,  madam.     I  must  never   marry — either   this   Mi 
Anstiss  or  any  other. " 

'*  Tut,  tut  ;  this  is  foolish  maid's  nonsense.  Granted  you 
have  lost  your  old  lover,  there  are  plenty  more.  Suppose 
he  hath  lost  his  old  sweetheart,  there  are  plenty  more,  as  I 
doubt  not  he  hath  already  proved.  Mr.  Anstiss  is  a  very 
pretty  young  gentleman  ;  but  the  master  would  not  listen, 
saying  that  he  waited  for  the  lady's  friends." 

And  so  passed  six  weeks,  or  thereabouts,  for  the  only 
count  of  time  I  kept  was  from  Sunday  to  Sunday.  On  that 
day  we  rested  ;  the  negroes,  who  are  no  better  than  heathens, 
danced.  The  white  servants  lay  about  in  the  shade,  and 
drank  what  they  could  ;  in  one  cottage  only  on  that  godless 
estate  prayers  were  offered. 

And  then  happened  that  great  event  which  in  the  end 
proved  to  be  a  chp,nge  ot  my  whole  life,  and  brought  happi- 
ness out  of  misery,  and  joy  out  of  suffering,  though  at  first 
it  seemed  only  a  dreadful  addition  to  my  trouble.  Thus  is 
the  course  of  things  ordered  for  us,  and  thus  the  greatest 
blessings  follow  upon  the  most  threateningjuncture.  What 
this  was  I  will  tell  in  a  few  words. 

It  was  about  the  third  week  in  September  when  I  em- 
barked, and  about  the  third  week  in  November  when  the 
ship  made  her  port.  Therefore  I  take  it  that  it  was  one  day 
about  the  beginning  of  the  year  1686,  when  madam  came 
to  the  workroom  and  told  me  that  a  ship  had  arrived,  carry- 
ing a  cargo  of  two  hundred  rebels  and  more,  sent  out  to 
work  upon  the  plantations,  like  myself,  for  the  term  of  ten 
years.  She  also  told  me  that  the  master  was  gone  to  the 
Bridge  in  order  to  buy  some  of  them.  Not,  she  said,  that 
he  wanted  more  hands,  but  he  expected  that  there  would  be 
among  them  persons  of  quality  who  would  be  glad  to  buy 
their  freedom.  He  still,  she  told  me,  looked  to  make  a 
great  profit  out  of  myself,  and  was  thinking  to  sell  me,  un- 
less my  friends  in  England  speedily  sent  proposals  for  my 
ransom,  to  the  young  planter  who  was  in  love  with  me. 
This  did  not  displease  me.  I  have  not  thought  it  necessary 
to  tell  how  Mr.  Anstiss  came  often  to  the  estate,  and  con- 
tinually devised  schemes  for  looking  at  me,  going  to  the 
ingenio,  whence  he  could  see  those  who  sat  in  the  workroom, 
and  even  sending  me  letters,  vowing  the  greatest  extrava- 
gance of  passion  ;  I  say  I  was  not  displeased  because  there 
was  in  this  young  gentleman's  face  a  certain  goodness  of 
disposition  clearly  marked,  so  that  even  if  I  beciame  his 
property    I    thought   I    might   persuade   him    to    relinquislj 


28o  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

thoughts  of  love,  even  if  I  had  to  trust  myself  entirely  to  his 
honor,  and  tell  him  all.  But,  as  you  shall  hear,  this  project 
of  the  master's  was  brought  to  naught. 

As  for  the  rebels,  I  was  curious  to  s'ee  them.  Some  I 
might  recognize  ;  to  some  I  might  perhaps  be  of  a  little  use 
at  the  outset  in  guarding  them  against  dangers.  I  did  not 
fear,  or  think  it  likely,  that  there  would  be  any  among  them 
vvhom  I  might  know,  or  who  might  know  me.  Yet  the 
thing  which  I  least  suspected  and  the  least  feared — a  thing 
which  one  would  have  thought  so  unlikely  as  to  make  the 
event  a  miracle  ;  nay,  call  it  rather  the  merciful  ordering  of 
all — that  thing  I  say,  actually  happened. 

The  newly  bought  servants  arrived  at  about  five  in  the 
evening. 

I  looked  out  of  the  workroom  to  see  them.  Why,  1 
seemed  to  know  their  faces — all  their  face^.  They  were  our 
brave  West  Country  lads,  whom  I  had  last  seen  marching 
gallantly  out  of  Taunton  town  to  victory  and  glory  (as  they 
believed)  ;  now,  pale  with  the  miseries  of  the  voyage,  thin 
with  bad  food  and  disease,  hollow-cheeked  and  hollow- 
eyed,  in  rags  and  dirt,  barefooted,  covered  with  dust,  grimy 
for  want  of  washing,  their  beards  grown  all  over  their  faces, 
with  hanging  heads  stood  these  poor  fellows.  There  were 
thirty  of  them  ;  some  had  thrown  themselves  on  the  ground 
as  if  in  the  last  extremity  of  fatigue  ;  some  stood  with  the 
patience  that  one  sees  in  brute  beasts  who  are  waiting  to  be 
killed  ;  and  in  a  group  together  stood  three — oh,  merciful 
Heaven  !  was  this  misery  also  added  to  my  cup  ?  They 
were  Robin,  Barnaby,  and  Humphrey.  Robin's  face,  heavy 
and  pale,  betrayed  the  sorrow  of  his  soul.  He  stood  as 
one  who  neither  careth  for  nor  regarded  anything.  INfy 
heart  fell  like  lead  to  witness  the  despair  which  was  visible 
in  his  attitude,  in  his  eyes,  in  his  brow.  But  Barnaby 
showed  still  a  cheerful  countenance,  and  looked  about  him 
as  it  he  were  arriving  a  welcome  guest  instead  or  a  slave. 

"You  know  any  of  them,  child.''  "  madam  asked. 

"Oh,  madam,"  I  cried,  "they  are  my  friends  ;  they  are 
my  friends.      Oh,  help  them  ;  help  them." 

"How  can  I  help  them  ?"  she  replied,  coldly.  "They 
are  rebels,  and  they  are  justly  punished.  Let  them  write 
home  for  money  if  they  have  friends,  and  so  they  can  be 
ransomed  To  make  them  write  the  more  movingly  the 
master  hath  resolved  to  send  them  all  to  work  in  the  tields. 
The  harder  they  work,  he  says,  the  more  they  will  desire  ty 
be  free  again." 

"Xn  th?  fields  !     Oh,  Robin  I  mv  poor  Robin  ! ' 


}-'0K  FAITH  AA'D  FREEDOM.  jgi 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

H  U  M  P  H  R  E  y's    narrative. 

With  these  words — "Oh,  Robin!  Robin!  — the  history 
as  set  down  in  my  mistress's  handwriting-  suddenly  comes 
to  an  end.  The  words  are  titting,  because  her  whole  heart 
was  full  of  Robin,  and  though  at  this  time  it  seemed  to  the 
poor  creature  a  sin  still  to  nourish  affection  for  her  old  sweet- 
heart, I  am  sure — nay,  I  have  it  on  her  own  confession — 
that  there  was  never  an  hour  in  the  waking  day  when  Robin 
was  not  in  her  mind,  though  between  herself  and  her  former 
Lover  stood  the  dreadful  figure  of  her  husband.  I  suppose 
that,  although  she  began  this  work  with  the  design  to  com- 
plete it,  she  had  not  the  courage,  even  when  years  had 
passed  away,  and  much  earthly  happiness  had  been  her  re- 
ward, to  write  down  the  passages  which  follow.  Where- 
fore (and  for  another  reason,  namely,  a  confession  which 
must  be  made  by  myself  before  I  die)  I  have  taken  upon 
myself  to  finish  that  part  of  Grace  Eykin's  history  which  re- 
lates to  theMonmoutli  rising  and  its  unhappy  consequences. 
You  have  read  how  (thanks  to  my  inexperience  and  igno- 
rance of  conspiracies,  and  belief  in  men's  promises)  we  were 
reduced  to  the  lowest  point  of  disgrace  and  poverty.  Grace 
did  not  tell,  because  till  afterwards  she  did  not  know,  that 
on  Sir  Christopher's  death  his  estate  was  declared  confiscated, 
and  presently  bestowed  upon  Benjamin  by  favor  of  Lord 
Jeffreys,  so  that  he  whose  ambition  it  was  to  become  lord 
chancellor  was  already  (which  he  had  not  expected,)  the 
Lord  of  the  Manor  of  Bradford  Orcas.  But  of  this  here- 
after. 

I  have  called  her  my  mistress.  Truly,  all  my  life  she 
hath  been  to  me  more  than  was  ever  Laura  to  Petrarch,  or 
even  Beatrice  to  the  great  Florentine.  The  ancients  rep- 
resented every  virtue  by  a  goddess,  a  "grace,  or  a  nymph. 
Nay,  the  arts  were  also  feminine  (yet  subject  to  the  informing 
influence  of  the  other  sex,  as  the  muses  had  Apollo  for  their 
director  and  chief)  To  my  mind  every  generous  senti- 
ment, every  worthy  thought,  all  things  that  are  gracious, 
all  things  that  lift  my  soul  above  the  common  herd,  belong 


282  POR  FAITH  AiVD  FREEDOM. 

not  to  me,  but  to  my  mistress.  In  my  youth  it  was  sbe 
who  encourag-ed  me  to  the  practice  of  those  arts  by  which 
the  soul  is  borne  heavenwards.  I  mean  the  arts  of  poetry 
and  of  music  ;  it  was  she  who  listened  patiently  when  I 
would  still  be  prating  of  myself,  and  encouraged  the  ambi- 
tions which  had  already  seized  my  soul.  So  that  if  I  turned 
a  set  of  verseis  smoothly,  it  was  to  Grace  that  I  gave  them, 
and  for  her  that  I  wrote  them.  When  we  played  heavenly 
music  together  the  thoughts  inspired  by  the  strain  were  like 
the  Italian  painter's  vision  of  the  angels  which  attend  the 
V^irgin.  I  mean  that,  sweet  and  holy  as  they  are,  they  fall 
far  short  of  the  holiness  and  sweetness  of  her  whom  they 
honor.  So  whatever  my  thoughts,  or  my  ambitions,  amid 
them  all  I  saw  continually  the  face  of  Grace,  always  filled 
with  candor  and  with  sweetness.  That  quality  which  en- 
ables a  woman  to  think  always  about  others,  and  never 
about  herself,  was  given  to  Grace  in  large  aiid  plenteous 
measure.  .If  she  talked  wiii  me,  her  soul  was  all  mine  ; 
if  she  was  waiting  on  madam,  or  upon  Sir  Christopher,  or 
upon  the  rector,  or  on  her  own  mother,  she  knew  their  in- 
most thoughts,  and  divined  all  their  wants.  Nay,  long 
afterwards,  in  the  daily  exercise  of  work  and  study,  at  the 
University  of  Oxford,  in  the  foreign  schools  of  IMontpellier, 
Padua,  and  Leyden,  it  was  Grace  who,  though  far  away, 
encouraged  me.  I  could  no  longer  hear  her  voice,  but  her 
steadfast  eyes  remained  in  my  mind  like  twin  stars  that 
dwell  in  heaven.  This  is  a  wondrous  power  given  to  a  few 
women,  that  they  should  become,  as  it  were,  angels  sent 
from  heaven,  lent  to  the  earth  awhile,  in  order  to  fill  men's 
minds  with  worthy  thoughts  and  to  lead  them  in  the  heaven- 
ly way.  The  Romish  Church  holds  that  the  age  of  miracles 
hath  never  passed,  which  I  do  also  believe,  but  not  in  the 
sense  taught  by  that  church.  Saints  there  are  among  us 
still,  who  daily  work  miracles,  turning  earthly  clay  into  the 
jasper  and  precious  marble  of  heaven. 

Again,  the  great  poet  INIilton  hath  represented  his  Virtuous 
Lady  unharmed  among-  the  rabble  rout  of  Comus,  protected 
by  her  virtue  alone.  Pity  that  he  hath  not  also  shown  a 
young-  man  led  by  that  sweet  lady,  encouraged,  warned, 
and  guarded  along  that  narrow  way,  beset  with  quag  and 
pitfall,  along  which  he  must  walk,  who  would  willingly 
climb  to  higher  place.  And  all  this  apart  from  earthly  love 
as  in  the  case  of  those  two  Italian  poets. 

More,  I  confess,  I  would  have  had,   and  presumptuously 
longed  for  it ;  nay,  c/en  j-iraycd  for  it  with  such  yearnings 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  283 

and  longings  as  seemed  to  tear  my   very  heart  asunder. 
But  this  was  denied  to  me. 

In  September,  1685,  ten  weeks  after  the  fight  of  Sedge- 
m«or,  we,  being  by  that  time  well  tired  of  Exeter  prison, 
were  tried  by  Lord  Jeffreys.  It  was  no  true  trial,  for  we  were 
all  advised  to  plead  guilty,  upon  which  thejudge  bellowed  and 
roared  at  us,  abusing  us  in  such  language  as  I  never  thought 
to  hear  from  the  bench,  and  finally  sentenced  us  all  to  deatn. 
(A  great  deal  has  been  said  of  this  roaring  of  the  judge,  but 
I  am  willing  to  excuse  it  in  great  measure,  on  the  ground  of 
the  disease  from  which  he  was  then  suffering.  I  myself, 
who  had  heard  that  he  was  thus  afflicted,  saw  the  drops  of 
agony  upon  his  forehead,  and  knew  that  if  he  was  not  bawl- 
ing at  us,  he  must  have  been  roaring  on  his  own  account.) 
So  we  were  marched  back  to  prison,  and  began  to  prepare 
for  the  last  ceremony,  which  is,  I  think,  needlessly  horrible 
and  barbarous.  To  cut  a  man  open  while  he  is  still  living 
is  a  thing  not  practised  even  by  the  savage  Turk.  At  this 
gloomy  time  my  cousin  Robin  set  a  noble  example  of  forti- 
tude which  greatly  encouraged  the  rest  of  us.  Nor  would 
he  ever  suffer  me  to  reproach  myself  (as  I  was  continually 
tempted  to  do)  with  having  been  the  cause  of  the  ruin  which 
had  fallen  upon  the  whole  of  our  unfortunate  house.  Nay, 
he  went  further,  and  insisted  and  would  have  it  that  had  I 
remained  in  Holland  he  himself  would  have  joined  the  duke, 
and  that  I  was  in  no  way  to  blame  as  an  inciter  to  this  un- 
fortunate act.  We  knew  by  this  time  that  Sir  Christopher 
had  been  arrested,  and  conveyed  to  Ilminster  jail,  and  thai 
with  him  were  Dr.  Eykin,  grievously  wounded,  and  Bar- 
naby,  and  that  Grace,  with  her  mother,  was  also  at  Ilminster. 
Mr.  Boscorel,  for  his  part,  was  gone  to  London  in  order  to 
exert  whatever  interest  he  might  possess  on  behalf  of  all. 
With  him  went  madam,  Robin's  mother,  but  she  returned 
licfore  the  trial,  much  dejected,  so  that  we  were  not  encour- 
aged to  hope  for  anything  from  that  quarten  Madam  be- 
gan to  build  some  hopes  at  this  time  from  Benjamin,  be- 
cause he,  who  had  accompanied  the  judges  from  London, 
was  the  boon  companion  every  night  of  Lord  Jeffreys  him- 
self. But  it  is  one  thing  to  be  permitted  to  drink  and  sing 
with  a  man  at  night,  and  another  thing  to  procure  of  him 
the  pardon  of  rebels,  and  those  not  the  common  sort,  but 
leaders  and  captains.  That  Benjamin  would  attempt  to 
save  us  I  did  not  doubt,  because  in  common  decency  and 
humanity  he  must  needs  try  to  save  his  grandfather  and  his 
cousins.     Eyt  that  he  >vould  elfect  anything,  that  indeed  1 


384  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

doubted.  Whether  he  did  make  an  attempt  I  know  not. 
He  came  not  to  the  prison,  nor  did  he  make  any  sign  that 
he  knew  we  were  among- the  prisoners.  What  he  contrived, 
the  plot  which  he  laid,  and  the  villainy  with  which  he  ca-- 
ried  it  out,  you  have  already  read.  Well,  I  shall  have  much 
more  to  say  about  Benjamin.  For  the  moment,  let  hin; 
pass. 

I  say,  then,  that  we  were  lying  in  Exeter  jail,  expectin^^t  i 
be  called  out  for  execution  at  any  hour.  \\'e  were  sitting  i  . 
the  courtyard  on  the  stone  bench,  with  gloomy  hearts. 

"  Robin  !  Humphrey  !  lads  both  !  "  cried  a  voice  wc  knew. 
It  was  the  rector,  Mr.  Boscorel,  himself,  who  called  us. 
"Courage,  lads  !  "  he  cried,  yet  looked  himself  as  mournful 
as  man  can  look.  "I  bring  you  good  news.  I  have  this 
day  ridden  from  Ilminster.  There  is  other  news  not  so 
good.  Good  news,  I  say  ;  for  you  shall  live,  and  not  die  ! 
I  have  so  far  succeeded  that  the  lives  are  spared  of  Robin 
Challis,  captain  in  the  rebel  cavalry  ;  Barnaby  Eykin,  cap- 
tain of  the  green  regiment;  and  Humphrey  Challis,  chirur- 
geon  to  the  duke.  Yet  must  you  go  to  the  plantations,  poor 
lads  !  there  to  stay  for  ten  long  years.  Well,  we  will  hope 
to  get  your  pardon  and  freedom  long  before  that  time  is 
over.      Yet  you  must  perforce  sail  across  the  seas." 

"Lad,"  cried  Robin,  catching  my  hand,  "cease  to  tear 
thy  heart  with  reproaches.  See  !  none  of  us  will  die,  after 
all." 

"On  the  scaffold,  none,"  said  Mr.  Boscorel.  "On  the 
scaffold  none,"  he  repeated. 

"And  what  saith  my  grandfather,    sir.?"   Robin    asked. 

He  is  also  enlarged,  I  hope,  at  last  And  how  is  the 
learned  Dr.  Eykin  .-*     And  Grace,  my  Grace,  where  is  she  } '' 

"Young  man,"  said  the  rector,  "  prepare  for  tidings  of  the 
worst — yes,  of  the  very  worst.  Cruel  news  I  bring  to  you, 
boys — and  for  myself. "  (He  hung  his  head. )  ' '  Cruel  news 
— shameful  news." 

Alas  I  you  know  already  what  he  had  to  tell  us.  Worse 
than  the  death  of  that  good  old  man,  Sir  Christopher,  worse 
than  the  death  of  the  unfortunate  Dr.  Eykin  and  his  much 
tried  wife,  there  was  the  news  of  Grace's  marriage  and  of 
her  flight  ;  and  at  hearing  this  we  looked  at  each  other  in  dis- 
may, and  Robin  sprang  to  his  feet  and  cried  aloud  for  ven- 
geance upon  the  villain  who  had  done  this  thing. 

"  It  is  my  own  son,"  said  Mr.  Boscorel,  "yet  spare  him 
not  He  deserves  all  that  you  can  call  him  and  more. 
Shameful  news  I  had  to  tell  you.    Where  the  poor  child  hath 


t-'OR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  285 

found  a  retreat,  or  how  she  fares  I  know  not.  Robin,  ask 
me  not  to  curse  my  own  son.  What  is  done  will  bring  its 
punishment  in  due  time.  Doubt  it  not.  But  of  punishment 
we  need  not  speak.  If  there  were  any  way — any  way  pos- 
sible— out  of  it.  But  there  is  none.  It  is  a  fatal  blow. 
Death  itself  alone  can  release  her.  Consider,  Humphrey, 
consider.  You  are  not  so  distracted  as  your  cousin.  Con- 
sider, I  say,  that  unhappy  girl  is  Benjamin's  lawful  wife.  If 
he  can  find  her,  he  may  compel  her  to  live  with  him.  She 
is  his  lawful  wife,  I  say.  It  is  a  case  in  which  there  is  no 
remedy.  It  is  a  wickedness  for  which  there  is  no  help  until 
one  of  the  twain  shall  die." 

There  was,  indeed,  no  help  or  remedy  possible.  I  will 
not  tell  of  the  madness  which  fell  upon  Robin  at  this  news, 
nor  of  the  distracted  things  he  said,  nor  how  he  wept  for 
Grace  at  one  moment  and  the  next  cursed  the  author  of  this 
wickedness.  There  was  no  remedy.  Yet  Mr.  Boscorel 
solemnly  promised  to  seek  out  the  poor  innocent  girl,  forced 
to  break  her  vows  for  the  one  reason  which  could  excuse 
her — namely,  to  save  the  lives  of  all  she  loved. 

"  They  were  saved  already,"  INIr.  Boscorel  added.  "He 
knew  that  they  were  saved.  He  had  seen  me.  He  had  the 
news  that  I  brought  from  London.  He  knew  it  and  he  lied 
unto  her.  There  is  no  single  particular  in  which  his  wicked- 
ness can  be  excused  or  defended.  Yet,  I  say,  curses  are  of 
no  avail.  The  hand  of  God  is  heavy  upon  all  sinners,  and 
will  presently  fall  upon  my  unhappy  son.  I  pray  that  be- 
fore that  hand  shall  fall  his  heart  may  be  touched  with  re- 
pentance. " 

But  Robin  fell  into  a  melancholy  from  which  it  was  im- 
possible to  rouse  him.  He  who,  while  death  upon  the  scaf- 
fold seemed  certain,  was  cheerful  and  brave,  now,  when  his 
life  was  spared,  sat  heavy  and  gloomy,  speaking  to  no  one  ; 
or  if  he  spoke,  then  in  words  of  rage  and  impatience. 

Mr.  Boscorel  remained  at  Exeter,  visiting  us  daily  until  the 
time  came  when  we  were  removed.  He  brought  with  him 
one  day  a  smooth-tongued  gentleman,  in  sober  attire,  who 
was,  he  told  us,  a  West  Indian  merchant  of  Bristol,  named 
George  Penne.  You  have  read  and  known  already  how  great 
a  villain  was  this  man. 

"  This  gentleman,"  said  INIr.  Boscorel,  "is  able  and  will- 
ing, for  certain  considerations:  to  assist  you  in  your  exile. 
You  have  been  given,  among  many  others,  by  the  king,  to 
one  Mr.  Jerome  Nipho,  who  hath  sold  all  his  convicts  to  this 
g;entleman.     In  hi«  turn,  he  is  under  bonds  to  ship  you  for 


286  FOR  FAITH  AXD  FREEDOM. 

the  plantations,  where  you  will  be  sold  again  to  the  planters. " 

"  Sirs  " — Mr.  Penne  looked  from  one  to  the  other  of  us  with 
compassionate  eyes — "I  have  heard  your  melancholy  case 
and  it  will  be  to  my  great  happiness  if  1  may  be  able  in  any 
way  to  soften  the  rigors  of  your  exile.  Be  it  known  to 
you  that  I  have  correspondents  in  Jamaica,  Barbadoes,  and 
Virginia  ;  and  that  for  certain  sums  of  money,  these,  my 
friends  will  readily  undertake  to  make  your  servitude  one 
merely  in  name.  In  other  words,  as  I  have  already  inform- 
ed his  reverence,  I  have  bought  you  in  the  hope  of  being 
useful  to  you — I  wish  I  could  thus  buy  all  unhappy  prisoners 
— and  I  can,  on  paying  my  friends  what  they  demand,  secure 
to  you  freedom  from  labor,  subject  only  to  the  condition  of 
remaining  abroad  until  your  term  is  expired  or  your  friends 
at  home  have  procured  your  pardon.  " 

"  As  for  the  price,  Humphrey,"  said  ]Mr.  Boscorel,  "that 
shall  be  my  care.  It  is  nearly  certain  that  Sir  Christopher's 
estates  will  be  confiscated,  seeing  that  he  died  in  prison 
under  the  charge  of  high-treason,  though  he  was  never  tried. 
Therefore  we  must  not  look  to  his  lands  for  any  help.  What 
this  gentleman  proposes  is,  however,  so  great  a  thing,  that 
we  must  not  hesitate  to  accept  his  offer  gratefully." 

"  I  must  have,"  said  Mr.  Penne,  "seventy  pounds  for 
each  prisoner.  I  hear  that  there  is  a  third  young  gentleman 
of  your  party  now  in  the  same  trouble  at  Ilminster.  I  shall, 
therefore,  ask  for  two  hundred  guineas — two  hundred  guineas 
in  all.  It  is  not  a  large  sum  in  order  to  secure  freedom. 
Those  who  cannot  obtain  this  relief  have  to  work  in  the 
fields  or  in  the  mills,  under  the  hot  sun  of  the  Spanish  Main. 
They  are  subject  to  the  whip  of  the  overseer,  they  have 
wretched  food  ;  they  are  W'orse  treated  than  the  negroes, 
because  the  latter  are  slaves  for  life  and  the  former 
for  ten  years  only.  By  paying  two  hundred  guineas 
only,  you  will  all  be  enabled  to  live  at  your  ease.  INIean- 
while,  your  friends  at  home  will  be  constantly  endeavoring 
to  procure  your  pardon.  I  myself,  though  but  a  simple 
merchant  of  Bristol  city,  can  boast  some  influence,  which  I 
will  most  readily  exert  to  the  utmost  in  your  behalf — " 

"  Say  no  more,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Boscorel,  interrupting  him. 
"  The  bargain  is  concluded.  These  young  gentlemen  shall 
not  be  subjected  to  any  servitude.  I  will  pay  you  two 
hundred  guineas." 

"  I  would,  sir," — Mr.  Penne  laid  his  hand,  which  was 
large,  white,  and  soft,  the  hand  of  a  liar  and  a  traitor,  upon 
his  treacherous  heart — "I  would  to  Hearen,  sir,"    he  said, 


't^OR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  287 

"  that  I  could  undertake  this  service  for  less.  If  vcvy  cor- 
respondents were  men  of  tender  hearts  the  business  should 
cost  you  nothing-  at  all.  But  they  are  men  of  business.  They 
say  that  they  live  not  abroad  for  pleasure,  but  for  profit  ; 
they  cannot  forego  any  advantage  that  may  offer.  As  for 
me,  this  job  brings  me  no  profit.  Upon  my  honor,  gentle- 
man, profit  from  such  a  source  I  should  despise.  Every 
guinea  that  you  give  me  will  be  placed  to  the  credit  of  my 
correspondents,  who  will,  I  am  assured,  turn  a  pretty  penny 
by  the  ransom  of  the  prisoners.  But  that  we  cannot  help. 
And  as  for  me,  I  say  it  boldly  in  the  presence  of  this  learned 
and  pious  clergyman,  I  am  richly  rewarded  with  the  satisfac- 
tion of  doing  a  generous  thing.  That  is  enough,  I  hope,  for 
any  honest  man. " 

The  fellow  looked  so  benevolent  and  smiled  with  so  much 
compassion  that  it  was  impossible  to  doubt  his  word.  Be- 
sides, Mr.  Boscorel  had  learned  many  things  during  the 
journey  to  London  ;  among  others,  that  it  would  be  possible 
to  buy  immunity  from  labor  for  the  convicts.  Therefore, 
he  hesitated  not,  but  gave  him  what  he  demanded  ;  taking 
in  return  a  paper,  which  was  to  be  shown  to  Mr.  Penne's 
correspondents,  in  which  he  acknowledged  the  receipt  of  the 
money,  and  demanded  in  return  a  release  from  actual  servi- 
tude. This  naper  I  put  carefully  in  my  pocket  with  my 
note-book  and  my  case  of  instruments. 

It  was,  so  far  as  my  memory  serves  me,  about  six  weeks 
after  our  pardon  was  received  when  we  heard  that  we  were 
to  be  marched  to  Bristol,  there  to  be  shipped  for  some  port 
or  other  across  the  ocean.  At  Taunton  wc  were  joined  by 
a  hundred  poor  fellows  as  fortunate  as  ourselves  ;  and  at 
Bridgwater  by  twenty  more,  whose  lives  had  been  bought  by 
Colonel  Kirke.  Fortunate  we  esteemed  ourselves,  for  every- 
where the  roads  were  lined  with  legs,  heads,  trunks,  and 
arms,  boiled  and  blackened  in  pitch,  stuck  up  for  the  terror 
of  the  country.  Well,  you  shall  judge  how  fortunate  we 
were. 

When  we  reached  Bristol,  we  found  Mr.  Pennc  upon  the 
quay  with  some  other  merchants.  He  changed  color  when 
he  saw  us,  but  quickly  ran  to  meet  us,  and  whispered  that 
we  were  on  no  account  to  betray  his  goodness  in  the  matter 
of  ransom,  otherwise  it  might  be  the  undoing  of  us  all,  and 
perhaps  cause  his  own  imprisonment.  He  also  told  me  that 
the  ship  was  bound  for  Barbadoes,  and  we  should  have  to 
mess  with  the  other  prisoners  on  the  voyage,  but  that  it 
would  all  be  made  up  to  us  when  we  arrived.      He  further 


3  88  I'OR  FAiril  AND  l•^REEDO^f. 

added  that  he  had  requested  his  correspondent*  to  entertain 
us  ujitil  money  should  arrive  from  England,  and  to  become 
our  bankers  for  all  that  we  should  want.  And  with  that  he 
clasped  my  hand  tenderly,  and  with  a  "  God  be  wi'  ye  "  he 
left  us.  and  we  saw  him  no  more. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX.. 

ROBIN,    HUMPHREY,   AND    BARNABY  REACH  BARBADOES. 

It  was  a  numerous  company  gathered  together  on  the 
deck  of  the  ship.  By  their  dress  they  were  country  lads  ; 
by  their  pale  cheeks  they  were  prison  birds  like  ourselves  ; 
by  their  dismal  faces  they  were  also,  like  ourselves,  rebels 
condemned  to  the  plantations.  Alas  !  how  many  of  these 
poor  fellows  have  returned  to  their  homes,  and  how  many 
lie  in  the  graves  of  Jamaica,  Virginia,  and  Barbadoes?  As 
for  preparations  for  a  voyage,  not  one  of  us  could  make  any, 
either  of  clothes  or  of  provisions.  There  was  not  among  the 
whole  company  so  much  as  a  change  of  clothes  :  nay,  there 
was  not  even  a  razor,  and  our  faces  were  bristling  horribly 
with  the  beards  which  before  long  made  us  look  like  so 
many  Heyducs. 

Among  them  I  presently  discerned,  to  my  great  joy,  no 
other  than  Barnaby.  His  coat  of  scarlet  was  now  so  ragged 
and  stained  that  neither  color  nor  original  shape  could  be 
discerned  ;  his  ruffles  and  cravat  of  lace  were  gone,  and  the 
scarlet  sash,  which  had  formerly  carried  his  hanger,  was 
gone  also.  In  a  word,  he  was  in  rags  and  covered  with  the 
dust  of  the  road.  Yet  his  jolly  countenance  showed  a  satis- 
faction which  contrasted  greatly  with  the  dejection  of  his 
companions.  He  sniffed  the  scent  of  tar  and  ropes  with  a 
joy  which  was  visible  to  all,  and  he  contemplated  the  ship 
and  her  rigging  with  the  air  of  one  who  is  at  home. 

Then  he  saw  us,  and  shouted  to  us  while  he  made  his  way 
among  the  rest 

"  What  cheer,  ho  !  Humphrey,  brave  lad  of  boluses  ?  " — 
never  did  any  man  grasp  the  hand  of  a  friend  with  greater 
vigor.  "This  is  better,  I  say,  than  the  accursed  prison, 
where  one  gets  never  a  breath  of  fresh  air.  Here  one  begins 
to  smell  salt  water  and  tarred  rope,  which  is  a  downright 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  289 

wholesome  smell  Already  I  feel  hearty  again.  I  would 
willingly  drink  a  tankard  of  black  beer.  What,  Robin, 
what !  We  are  not  going  to  be  hanged  after  all.  Lift  up  thy 
head  therefore  ;  is  this  a  time  for  looking  glum .?  We  shall 
live  to  hang  Judge  Jeffreys  yet — what!  Thy  looks  aie 
poorly,  lad.  Is  it  the  prison  or  is  it  thy  disappointment.? 
That  villain  Benjamin  !  Hark  ye,  Robin  " — some  men's 
faces  look  black  when  they  threaten,  but  Barnaby's  grew 
broader,  as  if  the  contemplation  of  revenge  made  him  the 
happier — "hark  ye,  this  is  my  business.  No  one  shall  in- 
terfere with  me  in  this.  Benjamin  is  my  affair.  No  one 
but  I  myself  must  kill  Benjamin  :  not  you,  Humphrey,  be- 
cause he  is  your  cousin  ;  nor  you  Robin,  because  you  must 
not  kill  Grace's  husband,  even  to  get  back  your  own  sweet- 
heart." Barnaby  spoke  wisdom  here  ;  in  spite  of  Robin's 
vows,  he  could  not  get  Grace  for  himself  by  killing  her  hus- 
band, unworthy  though  he  was.  "  Benjamin,"  he  went  on, 
"may  call  her  wife,  but  if  he  seek  to  make  her  his  wife,  if  I 
know  Sis  aright,  he  will  meet  his  match.  As  for  her  safety, 
I  know  that  she  must  be  safe.  For  why  }  Wherever  there 
are  folks  of  her  religious  kidney  there  will  she  find  frienas. 
Cheer  up,  Robin  ;  soon  or  late  I  will  kill  this  fine  husband 
of  hers. " 

But  Robin  shook  his  head. 

Barnaby  then  asked  if  I  knew  whither  we  were  bound.  I 
told  him  Barbadoes,  according  to  the  information  given  me 
by  I\Ir.  Penne. 

"Why,"  said  Barnaby,  rubbing  his  hands,  "  this  is  brave 
news  indeed.  There  is  no  place  I  would  sooner  choose. 
'Tis  a  small  island,  to  begin  with  ;  give  me  a  small  island  so 
that  the  sea  runneth  all  around  it,  and  is  everywhere  within 
easy  reach.  Where  there  is  sea  there  are  boats  :  where  there 
are  boats  there  are  the  means  of  escape.  Cheer  up,  my  lads  I 
I  know  the  Spanish  Main  right  well.  Give  me  a  tight  boat, 
1  care  not  how  small,  and  a  keg  of  water,  and  I  will  sail  her 
anywhere.  Ha  !  We  are  bound  to  Barbadoes,  are  we.''  this 
is  brave  news  !  " 

I  asked  him  next  what  kind  of  a  place  it  is. 

"'Tis  a  hot  place,"  he  replied.  "  A  man  is  always  thirsty, 
and  there  is  plenty  to  drink  except  water,  which  is  said  to  be 
scarce.  But  the  merchants  and  planters  want  none.  They 
have  wine  of  the  best,  of  Spain  and  France  and  of  Madeira. 
Cider  and  strong  ale  they  import  from  England.  And  drinks 
they  make  in  the  country — perino  and  mobbie,  I  remember, 
guppo  and  plantain  wine  and  kill-devil.     'Tis  a  rar«  country 


3^  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

for  drink,  and  many  there  be  who  die  of  too  much.  Hold 
up  thy  head,  Robin  ;  we  will  drink  damnation  to  Benjamin 
yet.  But  'tis  I  who  shall  kill  him.  Courage,  I  say.  What ! 
Our  turn  will  come  again."' 

I  told  him,  then,  what  had  been  done  by  Mr.  George  Penne, 
namely,  the  ransom  bought  by  the  rector  for  us  all. 

"  Why,"  he  said,  with  some  discontent,  "  we  shall  not  be 
long  upon  the  island,  after  all,  and  perhaps  the  money  might 
have  been  better  bestowed.  But  'twas  kindly  done  of  the 
rector.  As  for  the  banishment,  I  value  it  not  one  farthing. 
One  place  is  as  good  as  another,  and  for  my  own  part  1  love 
the  West  India  islands.  We  shall  have  our  choice  among 
them  all,  because  where  there  are  boats  and  the  open  sea  a 
man  can  go  whithersoever  pleaseth  him  best.  The  voyage 
out," — he  glanced  round  him— "  will,  I  fear,  be  choking  work  ; 
the  rations  will  be  short,  there  will  be  neither  drink,  nor  to- 
bacco, and  at  nights  we  shall  lie  close.  A  more  melancholy 
company  I  never  saw.  Patience,  my  lads,  our  turn  will 
come.'' 

Well,  'twas  a  special  mercy  that  we  had  with  us  one  man, 
at  least,  who  preserved  his  cheerfulness,  for  the  rest  of  the 
company  were  as  melancholy  as  King  James  himself  could 
have  desired.  Indeed,  to  look  back  upon  the  voyage  is  to 
recall  the  most  miserable  time  that  can  be  imagined.  Fiist 
of  all,  as  I  have  said,  we  were  wholly  unprepared  for  a  voy- 
age, having  nothing  at  all  with  us.  Thus  we  had  bad 
weather  at  the  outset,  which  not  only  made  our  people  ill, 
but  caused  the  biscuit  to  be  all  spoiled,  so  that  before  the 
end  of  the  voyage  a  few  pease  with  the  sweepings  of  the 
biscuit-room,  and  som.etimes  a  little  tough  beef,  was  all  our 
diet,  and  for  drink  nothing,  not  so  much  as  a  pannikin  ol 
beer,  but  water,  and  that  turbid  and  not  too  much  of  it 

As  for  me,  I  kept  my  health  chiefly  by  the  method  com- 
mon among  physicians  :  namely,  by  watching  the  symp- 
toms of  others.  But  mostly  was  I  concerned  with  the 
condition  of  Robin.  For  the  poor  lad,  taking  so  much  to 
heart  the  dreadful  villainy  which  had  been  practised  upon 
Grace,  never  once  held  up  his  head,  and  would  talk  and 
think  of  nothing  else  but  of  that  poor  girl. 

"  Where  is  she  ?  "  he  asked  a  hundred  times.  "Where  hath 
she  found  a  shelter  and  a  hiding-place?  How  shall  she  es- 
cape the  villain,  who  will  now  do  what  he  pleases,  since  we 
are  out  of  his  way  .-*  And  no  help  for  her  ;  not  any  until  she 
die,  or  until  he  dies.  And  we  cannot  even  send  her  a  letter 
to  console  her  poor  heart     Humphrey,  it  drives  me  mad  to 


FOR  FAITH  AXD  FREEDOM.  29: 

think  that  every  day  carries  us  farther  from  her.  If  1 
could  but  be  with  her,  to  protect  her  against  her  husband  ! 
Humphrey,  Barnaby  said  well,  I  could  not  get  her  back  to 
me  over  the  dead  body  of  her  husband.  But  to  protect  her, 
to  stand  between  her  and  the  man  she  hath  sworn  to  obey  !  " 
There  is  no  more  dangerous  condition  of  the  mind  than 
that  which  we  call  despair.  It  is,  I  take  it,  a  disease,  and 
that  of  the  most  dangerous  kind.  I  have  observed  many 
men  in  that  condition.  With  some  the  devil  enters  into 
them,  finding  all  the  doors  open  and  unguarded  ;  nay,  and 
receives  a  warm  welcome.  With  others  it  is  as  if  the  body 
itself  were  left  without  its  armor  ;  a  cheerful  and  hopeful  mind 
being  certainly  an  armor  against  disease,  capable  of  warding 
off  many  of  those  invisible  arrows  which  are  always  flying 
about  the  air,  and  striking  us  down  with  fevers,  agues,  cal- 
entures, and  other  pains  and  grievous  diseases. 

I  marvel  that  more  of  the  men  on  board  were  not  sick  ; 
for,  to  begin  with,  the  water  was  thick  and  swarmed  with 
wriggling  creatures,  difficult  to  avoid  in  drinking  ;  and  then, 
though  during  the  day  we  were  supposed  to  be  on  deck 
(where  the  air  was  fresh  even  if  the  sun  was  hot),  at  night 
we  were  terribly  crowded  below,  and  lay  too  close  for  health 
or  comfort.  However,  we  finally  made  Carlisle  Bay,  and 
the  port  of  St.  Michaels,  or  the  liridge.  And  I  must  say  this 
for  Barnaby,  that  he  maintained  throughout  the  whole  voy- 
age his  cheerfulness,  and  that  he  never  ceased  to  make  his 
plans  for  escape,  drawing  on  a  paper,  which  he  procured,  a 
rough  chart  of  the  Spanish  INIain,  with  as  many  islands  as  he 
could  remember.  Of  these  there  are  hundreds,  desolate  and 
safe  for  fugitives,  some  with  neither  water  nor  green  trees, 
and  some  with  springs  and  woods,  wild  fruit,  land  turtles  on 
the  shore,  fish  in  the  sea,  and  everything  that  man  can  de- 
sire.    We  made  the  land  one  day  in  the  forenoon. 

"  Barbadoes,"  said  Barnaby,  pointing  to  a  little  cloud  far 
away  on  the  horizon.  "  Well,  of  this  job  I  am  well-nigh 
sick.  To-morrow,  if  the  wind  holds,  we  shall  have  sailed 
round  the  island,  and  shall  beat  up  for  Carlisle  Bay.  Well,  it 
is  lucky  for  us  that  we  have  this  letter  of  Mr.  Penne's.  We 
will  go — I  know  the  place  well — to  the  sign  of  the  Rock  and 
Turtle,  kept  by  old  ]\Iother  Rosemary,  if  she  lives  still,  or  if 
she  be  dead  by  one  of  her  daughters — she  had  fifty  daughters 
at  least,  all  buxom  mulatto  girls.  There  will  we  put  off  these 
fithy  rags,  have  a  wash  in  a  tul)  of  fine  water,  get  shaven, 
and  then  with  smooth  chins  and  clean  shirts  we  will  sit  down 
to  a  dinner  such  as  the  old  woman  knows  how  to  make— 


igi  POR  FAIT//  AND  FREEDOM. 

a  potato  pudding  and  Scots  coUops,  with  Rhenish  wine,  anil 
afterwards  a  cool  cup  of  beverage,  which  is  nothing  in  the 
world  but  squeezed  limes  with  sugar  and  water,  fit  for  such 
a  womanly  stomach  as  yours,  doctor.  With  this  and  a  pipe 
(^f  tobacco,  and  perhaps  a  song  and  (when  your  worship 
hath  gone  to  bed)  a  dance  from  one  of  the  girls — I  say,  my 
lad,  with  this  I  shall  be  ready  to  forget  Sedgemoor,  and  to 
forgive  Judge  Jeffreys.  When  we  are  tired  of  Barbadoes,  we 
will  take  boat  and  sail  away;  I  know  one  island  at  least 
where  they  care  nothing  for  King  James.  Thither  will  we 
go.  my  lad." 

\\'ell,  what  we  found  at  our  port  and  how  we  fared  was 
not  quite  as  Barnaby  expected  and  hoped,  as  you  shall  hear. 
But  I  must  admire  the  cunning  of  the  man  Penne,  who  not 
only  took  from  Grace,  poor  child,  all  her  brother's  money, 
amounting  to  two  hundred  and  lifty  pounds  or  thereabouts 
(which  you  have  read)  on  the  pretext  of  bestowing  it  for  the 
advantage  of  all,  but  also  received  two  hundred  guineas  from 
Mr.  Boscorel  on  the  same  pretence.  This  made  in  all  four 
hundred  and  fifty  pounds.  And  not  one  penny,  not  a  single 
penny,  of  this  great  sum  did  the  man  spend  upon  the  purpose 
for  which  it  was  given  him. 

You  have  heard  how  the  merchants  and  planters  came 
aboard  the  ships  which  put  in  with  servants  and  slaves,  and 
how  these  are  put  for  sale,  one  at  a  time.  As  was  the  sale 
described  by  Grace,  just  such  was  ours.  Though,  I  take  it, 
our  lads  were  not  so  miserable  a  company  as  were  those  on 
board  her  ship.  Pale  of  cheek  they  looked,  and  dejected, 
and  some  were  sick  with  various  disorders,  caused  by  the 
continement  of  the  prison  or  the  sufferings  of  the  voyage. 
They  put  us  up  one  after  the  other,  and  we  were  sold.  I  for- 
get what  I  myself  fetched,  and,  indeed,  it  matters  not,  save 
that  many  jests  were  passed  at  our  expense,  and  that  when 
one  was  put  up,  as  Robin,  for  instance,  who  had  been  a  cap- 
tain in  the  rebel  army,  the  salesman  was  eloquent  in  praise 
of  his  rich  and  illustrious  family,  who  would  never  endure 
that  this  unfortunate  man  should  continue  in  servitude.  But 
Barnaby  put  his  tongue  in  his  cheek  and  laughed. 

When  the  sale  was  concluded,  we  were  bundled  into  boats 
and  taken  ashore  to  the  barracoon,  of  which  you  have  heard 
from  Grace.  Here  the  same  officer  as  read  to  her  party  the 
laws  concerning  servants  and  their  duties,  and  the  punish- 
ments which  await  transgressions,  read  them  also  to  our- 
selves. 

"  Faith,"  Baniaby  whispered,   "there  will  be  great  scoring 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 


«93 


of  backs  before  many  days  are  done,  unless  their  bark  is 
worse  than  their  bite. " 

This  done,  I  thought  it  was  time  to  present  my  letter. 
Therefore  I  stepped  forward  and  informed  the  officer,  who, 
by  reason  of  his  gown  and  wig,  and  the  beadles  who  were 
with  him,  I  judged  to  be  some  lawyer,  that,  with  my  cousin 
and  another,  I  held  a  letter  which  should  hold  us  free  from 
servitude. 

"  Ay,  ay,"  he  said.      "  Where  is  that  letter? " 

So  I  gave  it  to  him.  Twas  addressed  to  one  Jonathan 
Polwhele,  and  enjoined  him  to  receive  the  three  prisoners, 
named  Humphrey  Challis,  Robin  Challis,  and  Barnaby 
Eykin,  pay  for  them  such  sums  as  would  reasonably  be  re- 
quired to  redeem  them  from  servitude,  and  to  advance  them 
such  moneys  as  they  would  want  at  the  outset  for  maintain- 
ance,  the  whole  to  be  accounted  for  in  IMr.  Jonathan  Pol- 
whele's  next  dispatches  to  his  obedient  much  obliged  servant, 
G.  P. 

"Sir,"  said  the  officer,  when  he  had  read  the  letter  through, 
"it  is  addressed  to  Mr.  Jonathan  Polwhele.  There  is  no  mer- 
chant or  planter  of  that  name  on  the  whole  island." 

He  gave  me  back  the  letter.  "  If  this, "  he  said,  "is  all 
you  have  to  show,  there  is  no  reason  why  you  and  your 
friends  should  not  march  with  the  rest. " 

Truly,  we  had  nothing  else  to  show.  Not  only  was  there 
no  one  named  Polwhele  on  the  island,  but  there  never  had 
been  any  one  of  that  name.  Therefore  it  was  plain  that  we 
had  been  tricked,  and  that  the  man  named  George  Penne  was 
a  villain.  Alas,  poor  Barnaby  !  Where  now  were  his  cool 
cups  and  his  pipe  of  tobacco  }  Then  the  officer  beckoned  to 
a  gentleman — a  sober  and  grave  person — standing  near  him, 
and  spoke  to  him. 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  the  merchant,  "permit  me  to  read  this 
letter.  So,  it  is  the  handwriting  of  Mr.  George  Penne,  which 
I  know  well.  There  is  here  some  strange  mistake.  The 
letter  is  addressed  to  Mr.  Jonathan  Polwhele.  But  there  is 
no  one  of  that  name  in  the  place.  I  am,  myself,  Mr.  Penne's 
correspondent  in  this  island  ;  my  name,  gentlemen,  is  Sefton  ; 
not  Polwhele. " 

"Sir,"  I  said,   "do  you  know  Mr.  Penne?" 

"  I  have  never  seen  him.  He  consigns  to  my  care  once 
or  twice  a  year  a  cargo  of  transported  servants,  being  rogues 
and  thieves  sent  here  instead  of  to  the  gallows.  He  ships 
them  k>  my  care,  I  say,  as  he  hath  shipped  the  company 
i^rrived  this  nrioming,  and  I  sell  them  for  him,  taking  for  my 


294  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

share  a  percentage,  as  agreed  upon,  and  remitting  to  him  the 
balance  in  sugar  and  tobacco." 

"  Is  there  no  letter  from  him  ?  " 

"There  is  a  letter  in  which  he  advises  me  of  so  many 
rebels  consigned  to  me  in  order  to  be  sold.  Some  among 
them,  he  says,  were  captains  and  officers  in  ]\Ionmouth's 
army,  and  some  are  of  good  family,  among  whom  he  espe- 
cially names  Robin  and  Humphrey  Challis.  But  there  is  not 
a  word  about  ransom. " 

"Sir,  I  said,  knowing  nothing  as  yet  of  Grace  and  her 
money,  "two  hundred  guineas  have  been  paid  to  INIr.  Penne 
by  the  Rev.  Philip  Boscorel,  Rector  of  Bradford  Orcas,  for 
our  ransom." 

"Nothing  is  said  of  this,"  he  replied,  gravely.  "  Plainly, 
gentlemen,  without  despatches  from  Mr.  Penne,  I  cannot  act 
for  you.  You  have  a  letter.  It  is  written  by  that  gentle- 
man ;  it  is  addressed  to  Mr.  Polwhele  ;  it  says  nothing  about 
Barbadoes,  and  would  serve  for  Jamaica  or  for  Virginia.  So 
great  a  sum  as  two  hundred  guineas  cannot  have  been  for- 
gotten. I  exhort*you,  therefore,  to  patience  until  other  letters 
arrive.  Why,  two  hundred  guineas  would  have  gone  far  to 
redeem  you  all  three,  and  to  maintain  you  for  a  great  while. 
Gentlemen,  I  am  grieved  for  you,  because  there  is  no  help 
for  it,  but  that  you  must  go  with  the  planter  who  hath  bought 
you,  and  obey  his  orders.  I  will,  however,  send  to  J^Ir. 
Penne  an  account  of  this  charge,  and  I  would  advise  that 
you  lose  no  time  in  writing  to  your  friends  at  home." 

"Heart  up,  lad, "' cried  Barnaby,  for  I  turned  faint  upon 
this  terrible  discovery,  and  would  have  fallen,  but  he  held  me 
up.      ' '  Patience,  our  turn  will  come. " 

"Write  that  letter,"  said  the  merchant  again — "write  that 
letter  quickly,  so  that  it  may  go  with  the  next  vessel.  Other- 
wise the  work  is  sometimes  hard  and  the  heat  is  great. "  So 
he  turned  and  left  us. 

"Courage,  man,"  said  Barnaby.  "To  every  dog  his  day. 
If  now,  for  five  minutes  only,  I  couldhavemy  thumb  on  Mr. 
Penne's  windpipe  and  my  fingers  round  his  neck  !  And  I 
thought  to  spent  the  evening  joyfully  at  Mother  Rosemary's. 
Courage,  lad  ;  I  have  seen  already,"  he  whispered,  "a dozen 
boats  in  the  bay,  any  one  of  which  will  serve  our  turn. " 

But  Robin  paid  no  heed,  whatever  happened.  He  stood 
up  when  his  name  was  called,  and  was  sold  without  showing 
an.y  emotion.  When  he  found  that  we  had  been  tricked  he 
seemed  as  if  he  neither  heard  nor  regarded. 

When  all  was  ready  we  were  marched,  twenty  in  number, 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 


295 


along  a  white  and  dusty  road,  to  our  estate.  •  By  great  good- 
fortune,  rather  than  by  Providence,  we  were  all  bought  by 
the  same  master.  He  was,  it  is  true,  a  bad  man,  but  to  be 
together  was  a  happiness  which  we  'Could  not  expect.  He 
bought  us  all  because  he  understood  that  we  belonged  to  the 
same  family,  and  that  one  of  position,  in  the  hope  of  receiv- 
ing substantial  ransom.  This  man  rode  with  us,  accom- 
panied by  two  overseers  (these  were  themselves  under  the 
same  sentence),  who  cracked  their  whips  continually,  and 
cursed  us  if  we  lagged.  Their  bark  was  worse,  we  after- 
wards found,  than  their  bit*  ;  for  it  was  only  in  the  master's 
presence  that  they  behaved  thus  brutishly,  and  in  order  to 
curry  favor  with  him,  and  to  prevent  being  reduced  again  to 
the  rank  of  those  who  served  in  the  field.  There  was  no 
doubt,  from  the  very  outset,  that  we  were  afflicted  with  a 
master  whose  like,  I  would  hope,  is  not  to  be  found  upon 
the  island  of  Barbadoes.  Briefly,  he  was  one  whose  appear- 
ance, voice,  and  manner  all  alike  proclaimed  him  openly  to 
all  the  world  as  a  drunkard,  a  profligate,  and  a  blasphemer. 
A  drunkard  he  was  of  that  kind  who  are  seldom  wholly 
drunk,  and  yet  are  never  sober  ;  who  begin  the  day  with  a 
glass,  and  go  on  taking  more  glasses  all  day  long  ;  with 
small  ale  for  breakfast,  strong  ale  and  ^Madeira  for  dinner,  a 
tankard  in  the  afternoon,  and  for  supper  more  strong  ale  and 
Madeira,  and  before  bed  another  tankard.  As  for  compas- 
sion, or  tenderness,  or  any  of  the  virtues  which  a  man  who 
holds  other  men  in  slavery  ought  to  possess,  he  had  none 
of  them. 

Let  me  speak  of  him  with  no  more  bitterness  than  is  nec- 
essary. We  have,  I  think,  all  forgiven  him,  and  he  hath 
long  since  gone  to  a  place  where  he  can  do  no  more  harm 
to  any,  but  awaiteth  judgment,  perhaps,  inthesure  and  certain 
hope  of  which  the  funeral  service  speaks.  But  this  is  open 
to  doubt. 

When  we  arrived  at  the  estate  the  master  dismounted, 
gave  his  horse  to  a  negro,  and  ordered  us  to  be  drawn  up  in 
line. 

He  then  made  a  short  speech.  He  said  that  he  had  bought 
us,  rebels  and  villains  as  we  were,  and  that  he  meant  to  get  his 
money's  worth  out  of  us,  or  he  would  cut  us  all  to  pieces. 
Other  things  he  told  us  which  I  pass  over,  because  they 
were  but  repetitions  of  this  assurance.  He  then  proceeded 
to  examine  us  in  detail.  When  he  came  to  me,  he  cursed 
and  swore  because,  he  said,  he  had  been  made  to  pay  for  a 
sound,  proper  man,  and  had  trot  7\  crookback  for  his  barg^ain. 


,^6  POR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

I  told  him  that,  with  submission,  he  might  find  the  crook- 
back,  who  was  a  physician,  a  more  profitable  bargain  than 
many  a  stronger  man. 

"  What !"  he  roared.  "Thou  art  a  physician,  eh  ?  Wouldst 
slink  out  of  the  field-work  and  sit  idle  among  bottles  and  bo- 
luses .''  John,"  he  turned  to  one  of  the  overseers,  "pay 
particular  attention,  I  command  thee,  to  this  learned  physi- 
cian. If  he  so  much  as  turn  round  in  his  work,  make  his 
shoulders  smart " 

"Ay,  ay,  sir,"  said  the  overseer. 

"  And  what  art  thou,  sirrah  ?  "  He  turned  next  to  Barnaby. 
"Another  learned  physician,  no  doubt  ;  or  a  divine,  a 
bishop,  likely,  or  a  dean  at  the  least" 

"As  for  what  I  was,"  said  Barnaby,  "  that  is  neither  here 
nor  there.  For  what  I  am — I  suppose  I  am  your  servant 
for  ten  years,  until  our  pardons  are  sent  us. " 

"Thou  art  an  impudent  dog,  I  dare  swear,"  returned  the 
master.  "I  remember  thou  wast  a  captain  in  the  rebel 
army,  once  a  sailor  ;  well,  take  care,  lest  thou  taste  the  cat" 

"  Gentlemen  who  are  made  to  taste  the  cat,"  said  Bar- 
naby, '*are  apt  to  remember  the  taste  of  it  when  their  time 
is  up. " 

"  What !  "  he  cried.  "  You  dare  to  threaten  }  Take  that 
and  that"  and  so  began  to  belabor  him  about  the  head.  I 
trembled,  lest  Barnaby  should  return  the  blows.  But  he 
did  not  He  only  held  up  his  arm  to  protect  his  head,  and 
presently,  when  the  master  desisted,  he  shook  himself  like 
a  dog. 

"I  shall  remember  the  taste  of  that  wood,"  he  said 
quietly. 

The  master  looked  as  if  he  would  renew  the  cudgelling, 
but  thought  better  of  it 

Then,  without  more  violence,  we  were  assigned  our 
quarters.  A  cottage  or  hut  was  given  to  us  ;  we  were  served 
with  a  hammock  and  a  rug  each  ;  a  pannikin,  basin,  spoon, 
and  platter  for  each  ;  a  Monmouth  cap,  two  shirts,  common 
and  coarse,  two  pair  of  canvas  breeches,  and  a  pair  of  shoes 
for  each,  so  that  we  looked  for  all  the  world  like  the  fellows 
who  live  by  loading  and  unloading  the  ships  in  the  port  of 
Bristol.  Yet  the  change  after  the  long  voyage  was  grateful. 
They  served  us  next  with  some  of  the  stuff  they  called  loblol- 
lie,  and  then  the  night  fell,  and  we  lay  down  in  our  hammocks, 
which  were  certainly  softer  than  the  planks  of  the  ship,  and 
then  fell  fast  asleep  in  spite  of  the  humming  and  the  biting 
pf  the  merrywino^s,  and  so  slept  till  the  break  of  d^ij, 


JfOJi  FAITlt  AND  J'\kE£POM,  i^^ 


CHAPTER  XL. 

WITH    THE    HOE. 

Beforh  it  was  daylight  we  were  aroused  by  the  discord- 
«nt  clang  of  the  bell.     Work  was  about  to  begin. 

In  these  latitudes  there  is  little  twilight ;  the  day  begin  as  it 
ends,  with  a  kind  of  suddenness.  I  arose,  being  thus  sum- 
tnoned,  and  looked  out  Long  rays  o*  light  were  shooting 
up  the  sky  from  the  east,  and,  though  the  stars  were  still  visi- 
ble, the  day  was  fast  breaking.  In  a  few  moments  it  be- 
came already  so  light  that  I  could  see  across  the  yard,  or 
what  the  Italians  would  call  the  piazza,  with  its  ragged  bon- 
unnow  leaves,  the  figures  of  our  fellow-slaves  moving  about 
the  huts,  and  their  voices,  alas  ! — sad  and  melancholy  are 
the  voices  of  those  who  work  upon  his  majesty's  plantations. 
'I "wo  old  negresses  went  about  among  the  new-comers  car- 
rying a  bucket  full  of  a  yellow  mess  which  they  distributed 
among  us,  and  giving  us  to  understand  that  this  bowl  of 
yellow  porridge  or  loblollie,  made  out  of  Indian  corn,  was 
all  we  should  have  before  dinner.  They  also  gave  us  to  un- 
derstand in  their  broken  English,  which  is  far  worse  than  the 
jargon  talked  by  some  of  our  country  people,  that  we  should 
have  to  prepare  our  own  meals  for  the  future,  and  that  they 
would  show  us  how  to  make  this  delectable  mess. 

' '  Eat  it, "  .said  Barnaby.  ' '  A  pig  is  "better  fed  at  home.  Eat 
jt,  Robin,  lest  thou  faint  in  the  sun.  Perhaps  there  will  be 
something  better  for  dinner.  Heigh-ho  !  only  to  think  of 
Mother  Rosemary's,  where  I  thought  to  lie  last  night  1  Pa- 
tience lads." 

One  would  not  seem  to  dwell  too  long  on  the  simple  fare  of 
convicts,  therefore  I  will  say,  once  for  all,  that  our  rations 
consisted  of  nothing  at  all  but  the  Indian  meal,  and  of  salt 
beef  or  salt  fish.  The  old  hands  and  the  negro  slaves  know 
how  to  improve  their  fare  in  many  ways,  and  humane  mas- 
ters will  give  their  servants  quantities  of  the  fruits  such  as 
grow  here  in  great  abundance,  as  plantains,  lemons,  limes, 
bonannows,  guavas,  and  the  like.  And  many  of  the  black 
slaves  have  small  gardens  behind  their  huts,  where  they 
grow  onions.  yan»6,  potatoes,  and  other  things,  which  they 


298  ^'OR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

\:ultivate  on  Sundays.  They  arc  all  great  thieves  also,  steal- 
ing, whenever  they  can,  poultry,  eggs,  and  fruits,  so  that  they 
grow  fat  and  sleek,  while  the  white  servants  daily  grow  more 
meagre  and  fall  into  diseases  by  the  poorness  of  the  food. 
Then,  as  to  drink  ;  there  are  many  kinds  of  drink  (apart 
from  the  wines  of  Spain,  Portugal,  Canary,  Madeira,  and 
France)  made  in  the  country  itself  :  such  as  mobbie,  which 
■  '■>  a  fermented  liquor  of  potatoes  ;  and  perino,  from  the 
iquor  of  chewed  cassava  root;  punch,  which  is  water  and 
sugar  left  to  work  for  ten  days ;  rum,  which  is  distilled  in 
every  ingenio,  and  is  a  spirit  as  strong  as  brandy,  but  not 
so  wholesome.  Those  who  have  been  long  in  the  island, 
even  the  servants,  though  without  a  penny,  know  how  and 
where  to  get  these  drinks  ;  and  since  there  is  no  consoler,  to 
the  common  sort,  so  good  as  strong  drink,  those  who  are 
able  to  drink  every  day  of  these  things  become  somewhat 
reconciled  to  their  lot 

'*  Come  out,  ye  dogs  of  rebels  and  traitors  !  "  It  was  the 
loud  and  harsh  voice  of  the  master  himself  who  thus  disturb- 
ed us  at  our  breakfast.  'Twas  his  custom  thus  to  rise  early 
and  to  witness  the  beginning  of  the  day's  work.  And  'twas 
his  kindly  nature  which  impelled  him  thus  to  welcome  and 
encourage  his  newly  bought  slaves.  '"'  Come  out,  I  say.  Ye 
shall  now  show  of  what  stuff  ye  are  made.  Instead  of  pull- 
ing down  your  lawful  king,  ye  shall  pull  up  your  lawful 
master  and  make  him  rich.  If  ye  never  did  a  day's  work  in 
your  lives,  ye  shall  now  learn  the  how  b}'  the  must.  Come 
forth,  I  say,  ye  lazy,  guzzling  skulkers." 

"  Ay,  ay,"  said  Barnaby,  leisurely  scraping  his  bowl.  "We 
are  like,  indeed,  to  be  overfed  here. "He  rolled,  sailor-fashion, 
out  of  the  hut 

"  Barnaby,"  I  said,  "  for  God's  sake  say  nothing  to  anger 
the  master.     There  is  no  help  but  in  patience  and  in  hope." 

So  we  too  went  forth.  The  master,  red-faced  as  he  was, 
looked  as  if  he  had  been  drinking  already. 

"  So,"  he  cried.  "  Here  is  the  learned  physician.  Your 
health,  doctor.  And  here  is  the  gallant  captain,  who  was 
once  a  sailor.  The  air  of  the  fields,  captain,  will  remind  you, 
perchance,  of  the  quarter-deck.  This  young  gentleman 
looks  so  gallant  and  gay  that  I  warrant  he  will  ply  the  hoe 
with  a  light  and  frolic  heart.  Your  healths,  gentlemen. 
Hark  ye  now.  You  are  come  of  a  good  stock,  I  hear.  There- 
fore have  I  bought  you  at  a  great  price,  looking  to  get  my 
money  back  and  more.  Some  planters  would  suffer  you  to 
lie  at  your  ease  cockered  up  witii  bonavist  and  Madeira  till- 


FOR  FAITH  AXD  FREEDOM. 


299 


ttie  money  comes.  As  for  me,  I  shall  now  show  you  what 
3'ou  will  continue  to  do  unless  the  money  comes.  There- 
tore  you  will  at  once,  I  doubt  not,  ask  for  paper  and  pen 
and  presently  write.  Si.xty  pounds  a  piece,  gentlemen,  nof 
one  penny  less,  will  purchase  your  freedom.  Till  then,  the 
fields.  And  no  difference  between  white  and  black,  but  one 
whip  for  both.  ' 

We  made  no  reply,  but  took  the  hoes  which  were  given 
out  to  us,  and  marched  with  the  rest  of  the  melancholy 
troop. 

There  were  as  many  blacks  as  whites  ;  we  were  divided 
into  gangs,  with  every  gang  a  driver  armed  with  a  whip  ; 
and  over  all  the  overseers,  who,  by  their  severity,  showed 
their  zeal  for  the  master.  The  condition  of  slavery  hath  in 
it  something  devilish  both  for  those  who  are  slaves  and  those 
who  are  masters.  The  former  it  drives  into  despair  and 
fills  with  cunning,  dishonesty,  treachery,  and  revenge. 
Why,  the  slaves,  have  been  known  to  rise  in  rebellion,  and 
while  they  had  the  power  have  inflicted  tortures  unheard  of 
upon  their  masters.  The  latter  it  makes  cruel  and  unfeel- 
ing ;  it  tempts  them  continually  to  sins  of  all  kinds  ;  it  puts 
into  their  power  the  lives,  the  bodies — nay,  the  very  souls 
of  the  poor  folk  whom  they  buy.  I  do  maintain  and  con- 
ceal not  my  opinion,  that  no  man  ought,  in  a  Christian 
country,  to  be  a  slave  except  for  a  term  of  years,  and  then 
for  punishment.  I  have  been  myself  a  slave,  and  I  know 
the  misery  and  the  injustice  of  the  condition.  But  it  is  idle  to 
hope  that  the  planters  will  abandon  this  means  of  cultivat- 
ing their  estates,  and  it  is  certain  that  in  hot  countries  no 
man  will  work  except  by  compulsion. 

The  whip  carried  by  the  driver  is  a  dreadful  instrument, 
long,  thick,  and  strongly  plaited,  with  a  short  handle.  It  is 
coiled  and  slung  round  the  shoulders  when  it  is  not  being 
used  to  terrify  or  to  punish,  and  I  know  well  that  its  loutl 
crack  produces  upon  the  mind  a  sensation  of  fear  and  ot 
horror,  such  as  the  thunder  of  artillery  or  the  sight  of  the 
enemy  charging  could  never  cause  even  to  a  cowanl.  The 
fellows  are  also  extremely  dexterous  in  the  use  of  it  ;  they 
can  inflict  a  punishment  not  worse  than  the  flogging  of  a 
schoolboy  ;  or,  with  no  greater  outward  show  of  strength, 
they  will  cut  and  gash  the  flesh  like  a  Russian  executioner 
with  his  cruel  instrument  which  they  call  the  knout. 

For  slight  offences,  such  as  laziness  or  carelessness  in  the 
fiel4,  the  former-is  administered  ;  but  for  serious  offences 
i^  latter.     One  sad  execution  (I  cannot  call  it  less)  I  my- 


300 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 


self  witnessed.  What  the  poor  wretch  had  done  I  know 
not,  but  I  can  never  forget  his  piercing  shrieks  as  the  whip 
cut  into  the  bleeding  flesh.  This  is  not  punishment  ;  it  is 
savage  and  revengeful  cruelty.  Yet  the  master  and  the 
overseers  looked  on  with  callous  eyes. 

They  marched  us  to  a  field  about  half  a  mile  from  our  vil- 
lage or  camp,  and  there,  drawing  us  up  in  a  line,  set  us  tc^ 
work.  Our  task  was  with  the  hoe,  to  dig  out  square  holes 
each  of  the  same  depth  and  size,  in  which  the  sugar-cani^s 
are  planted,  a  small  piece  of  old  cane  being  laid  in  each. 
These  holes  are  cut  with  regularity  and  exactness,  in  long 
lines  and  equally  distant  from  each  other.  It  i^  the  driver's 
business  to  keep  all  at  work  at  the  same  rate  of  progress,  so 
that  no  one  should  lag  behind,  no  one  should  stop  to  rest  or 
breathe,  no  one  should  do  less  than  his  neighbors.  The 
poor  wretches,  with  bent  bodies  streaming  with  their  e.x- 
ertions,  speedily  become  afflicted  with  a  burning  thirst, 
their  legs  tremble,  their  backs  grow  stiff  and  ache,  their 
whole  bodies  become  full  of  pain  ;  and  yet  they  may  not 
rest  nor  stand  upright  to  breathe  awhile,  nor  stop  to  drink, 
until  the  driver  calls  a  halt.  From  time  to  time  the  negroes, 
men  and  women  alike,  were  dragged  out  of  the  ranks  and 
laid  on  the  ground,  three  or  four  at  a  time,  to  receive  lashes  for 
not  making  the  holes  deep  enough  or  fast  enough.  At  home  one 
can  daily  see  the  poor  creatures  flogged  in  Bridewell  ;  every 
day  there  are  rogues  tied  to  the  cartwheel  and  flogged  well- 
nigh  to  death  ;  but  a  ploughman  is  not  flogged  for  the  badness 
of  his  furrow,  nor  is  a  cobbler  flogged  because  he  maketh  his 
shoon  ill.  And  our  men  do  not  shriek  and  scream  so  wildly 
as  the  negroes,  who  are  an  ignorant  people,  and  have  never 
learned  the  least  self-restraint.  It  was  horrid  also  to  see  how 
their  bodies  were  scarred  with  the  marks  of  old  floggings, 
and  branded  with  letters  to  show  by  whom  they  had  been 
bought.  As  for  our  poor  fellows,  who  had  been  brave  re- 
cruits in  Monmouth's  army,  they  trembled  at  the  sight  and 
worked  all  the  harder,  yet  some  of  them  with  the  tears  in 
their  eyes,  to  think  that  they  should  be  brought  to  such  a 
dismal  fate,  and  to  herd  with  these  poor  ignorant  black 
people. 

'Twas  the  design  of  the  master  to  set  us  to  the  very  hardest 
work  from  the  beginning,  so  that  we  should  be  the  more 
anxious  to  get  remission  of  our  pains.  For  it  must  not  be 
supposed  that  all  the  work  on  the  estate  was  so  hard  and 
irksome  as  that  with  the  hoes,  which  is  generally  kept  for 
the  strongest  and  hardiest  of  the  negroes,  men  and   women. 


POR  FAITH  AXD  1-KEEDOM.  30I 

There  are  many  other  employments  :  some  are  put  to  weed 
the  canes  ;  some  to  fell  wood,  come  to  cleave  it  ;  some  to 
attend  the  ingenio,  the  boiling-house,  the  still-house,  the 
curing-house  ;  some  to  cut  the  maize  ;  some  to  gather  pro- 
visions, of  bonavist,  maize,  yams,  potatoes,  cassava,  and  the 
like  ;  some  for  the  smith's  forge  ;  some  to  attend  to  the  oxen 
and  sheep  ;  some  to  the  camels  and  assenegoes,  and  the 
like — so  that  had  the  master  pleased  he  might  have  set  us  to 
work  better  fitted  to  English  gentlemen.  Well,  his  greedi- 
ness and  cruelty  were  defeated,  as  you  will  see.  As  for  the 
domestic  economy  of  the  estate,  there  were  on  it  five  hundred 
acres  of  land,  of  which  two  hundred  were  planted  with  sugar, 
eighty  for  pasture,  one  hundred  and  twenty  for  wood,  twenty 
for  tobacco,  five  for  ginger,  and  as  many  for  cotton-wool, 
and  seventy  for  provisions — viz.,  corn,  potatoes,  plantains, 
cassava,  and  bonavist,  with  a  few  for  fruit.  There  were 
ninety-six  negroes,  two  or  three  Indian  women  with  their 
children,  and  twenty-eight  Christian  servants,  of  whom  we 
were  three. 

At  eleven  o'clock  we  were  marched  back  to  dinner.  At 
one  we  went  out  again,  the  sun  being  at  this  time  of  the  day 
very  fierce,  though  January  is  the  coldest  month  in  the  year. 
We  worked  till  six  o'clock  in  the  evening,  when  we  re- 
turned. 

"This, "  said  Robin,  with  a  groan,  "is  what  we  have  now 
to  do  every  day  for  ten  years." 

"  Heart  up,  lad,"  said  Barnaby.  "Our  time  will  come. 
Give  me  time  to  turn  round,  as  a  body  may  say.  Why,  the 
harbor  is  full  of  boats.  Let  me  get  to  the  port  and  look 
round  a  bit  If  we  had  any  money  now,  but  that  is  past 
praying  for.  Courage  and  patience.  Doctor,  you  hoe  too 
fast.  No  one  looks  for  zeal.  Follow  the  example  of  the 
black  fellows  who  think  all  day  long  how  they  shall  get  off 
with  as  little  work  as  possible.  As  for  their  lash,  I  doubt 
whether  they  dare  to  lay  it  about  us,  though  they  may  talk. 
Because  you  see,  even  if  we  do  not  escape,  we  shall  som.e 
time  or  other,  through  the  rector's  efforts,  get  a  pardon,  and 
then  we  are  gentlemen  again,  and  when  that  moment  ar- 
rives I  will  make  this  master  of  ours  fight,  willy-nilly,  and  I 
will  kill  him,  d'ye  see,  before  I  go  home  to  kill  Benjamin." 

He  then  went  on  to  discourse,  either  with  the  hope  of 
raising  our  spirits,  or  because  it  cheered  his  mind  just  to  set 
them  forth,  upon  his  plans  for  the  means  of  escape, 

"A  boat,"  he  said,  "  I  can  seize.  There  are  many  which 
would   serve   our   purpose.     But   a   boat   without   victuals 


jo2  i'OK  FAITH  AXD  FREEDOM. 

would  be  of  little  use.  One  would  not  be  accused  of  steal- 
ing, yet  we  may  have  to  break  into. the  store  and  take  there- 
from some  beef  or  biscuit.  But  where  to  store  our  victuals } 
We  may  have  a  voyage  of  three  or  four  hundred  knots  be- 
fore us.  That  is  nothing  for  a  tight  little  boat  when  the 
hurricane  season  is  over.  We  have  no  compass  either,  I 
must  lay  hands  upon  a  compass.  The  first  Saturday  .  night 
1  will  make  for  the  port  and  cast  about.  Lift  up  your  head, 
Robin.  Why,  man,  all  bad  times  pass  if  only  one  hath 
jiatience." 

It  was  this  very  working  in  the  field  by  which  the  master 
thought  to  drive  us  to  despair  which  caused  in  the  long  run 
our  deliverance,  and  that  in  the  most  unexpected  manner. 


CHAPTER    XLI. 

ONCONDITIONS. 

This  servitude  endured  for  a  week,  during  which  we  were 
driven  forth  daily  with  the  negroes  to  the  hardest  and  most 
intolerable  toil,  the  master's  intention  being  so  to  disgust  us 
with  the  life  as  to  make  us  write  the  most  urgent  letters  to 
our  friends  at  home.  Since,  as  we  told  him,  two  hundred 
guineas  had  been  already  paid  on  our  account — though  none 
of  the  money  was  used  for  the  purpose — he  supposed  that 
another  two  hundred  could  easily  be  raised.  Wherefore, 
while  those  of  the  new  servants  who  were  common  country 
lads  were  placed  in  the  ingenio,  or  the  curing-house,  where 
the  work  is  sheltered  from  the  scorching  sun,  we  were  made 
to  endure  every  hardship  that  the  place  permitted.  In  the 
event,  however,  the  man's  greed  was  disappointed,  and  his 
cruelty  made  of  none  avail. 

In  fact,  the  thing  I  had  foreseen  quickly  came  to  pas.s. 
When  a  man  lies  in  a  lethargy  of  despair  his  body,  no  longer 
fortified  by  a  cheerful  mind,  ])resently  falls  into  any  disease 
which  is  lurking  in  the  air.  Diseases  of  all  kinds  may  be 
likened  unto  wild  beasts — invisible,  always  on  the  prowl, 
seeking  whom  they  may  devour.  The  young  fall  victims 
to  some,  the  weak  to  others  ;  the  drunkards  and  gluttons  to 
others ;  the  old  to  others  ;  and  the  lethargic  again  to  others. 
It  was  not  surprising  to.  me.  therefore,  when  Robin,  coming 


/OA'  FAITH  AND  J-REEDOM.  ^oj 

home  one  evening,  fell  to  shivering  and  shaking,  chattering 
witn  his  teeth,  and  showing  every  external  sign  of  cold, 
though  the  evening  was  still  warm  and  the  sun  had  that  day- 
been  more  than  commonly  hot.  Also,  he  turned  av.-ay  from 
his  food  and  would  eat  nothing.  Therefore,  as  there  was 
nothing  we  could  give  him,  we  covered  him  with  our  rugs, 
and  he  presently  fell  asleep.  But  in.  the  morning  when  we 
awoke,  behold  !  Robin  was  in  a  high  fever,  his  hands  and 
head  burning  hot,  his  cheek  flushed  red,  his  eyes  rolling, 
and  his  brain  wandering.  I  went  forth  and  called  the  over- 
seer to  come  and  look  at  him.  At  first  he  cursed  and  swore, 
saying  that  the  man  was  malingering — that  is  to  say,  pre- 
tending to  be  sick  in  order  to  avoid  work — that,  if  he  were 
a  negro  instead  of  a  gentleman,  a  few  cuts  with  his  lash 
should  shortly  bring  him  to  his  senses  ;  that,  for  his  part,  he 
liked  not  this  mixing  of  gentlemen  with  negroes ;  and  that 
finally,  I  must  go  and  bring  forth  my  sick  man  or  take  it 
upon  myself  to  face  the  master,  who  would  probably  drive 
him  afield  with  the  stick. 

"Sir,"  I  said,  "what  the  master  may  do,  I  know  not. 
Murder  may  be  done  by  any  who  are  wicked  enough.  For 
my  part,  I  am  a  physician,  and  I  tell  you  that  to  make  this 
man  go  forth  to  work  will  be  murder.  But,  indeed,  he  is 
lightheaded,  and  with  a  thousand  lashes  you  could  not  make 
him  understand  or  obey." 

Well,  he  grumbled,  but  he  followed  me  into  the  hut. 

"The  man  hath  had  a  sunstroke,"  he  said,  "I  wonder 
that  any  of  you  have  escaped.  Well,  we  can  carry  him  to 
the  siclfhouse,  where  he  will  die.  When  a  new  hand  is 
faken  this  way,  he  always  dies." 

"Perhaps  he  will  not  die,"  I  said,  "if  he  is  properly 
'.reated.  If  he  is  given  nothing  but  this  diet  of  loblollie  and 
p.alt  beef,  and  nothing  to  drink  but  the  foul  water  of  the 
pond,  and  no  other  doctor  than  an  ignorant  old  ncgress,  he 
will  surely  die." 

"Good  Lord,  man  !"  said  the  fellow,  "what  do  you 
expect  in  this  country  ?  It  is  the  master's  loss,  not  mine 
'Jarry  him  between  you  to  the  sick-house." 

So  we  carried  Robin  to  the  sick-house. 

At  home  we  should  account  it  a  barn  ;  being  a  great 
place  with  a  thatched  roof,  the  windows  open,  without 
shutter  or  lattice,  the  door  breaking  away  from  its  hinges. 
Within  there  was  a  black,  lying  on  a  pallet,  groaning  most 
piteously.  The  poor  wretch,  for  something  that  he  had 
done,  I  know  not  what,  had  his  flesh  cut  to  pieces  with  the 


304  ^-'Ok  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

whip.  With  him  was  an  old  negress,  mumbling  and 
mouthing'. 

We  laid  Robin  on  another  pallet,  and  covered  him  with  a 
rug. 

"Now,  man,"  said  the  overseer,  "leave  him  there,  and 
come  forth  to  your  work." 

"  Nay,"  I  said,  "  he  must  not  be  left.  I  am  a  i)hysician, 
and  I  must  stay  beside  him." 

"If  he  were  your  son,  I  would  not  suffer  you  to  stay  with 
him." 

"  Man,"  I  cried,    "  hast  thou  »o  pity  ?  " 

"Pity  !  " — the  fellow  grinned — "  pity  !  quotha,  pity  !  Is 
this  a  place  for  pity  .?  Why,  if  I  showed  any  pity  I  should 
be  working  beside  you  in  the  fields.  It  is  because  1  have 
no  pity  that  I  am  an  overseer.  Look  here  !  "  (He  showed 
me  his  left  hand,  which  had  been  branded  with  a  red-hot 
iron.)  "This  was  done  in  Newgate,  seven  years  ago  and 
more.  Three  years  more  I  have  to  serve.  That  done,  I 
may  begin  to  show  some  pity,  not  before.  Pity  is  scarce 
among  the  drivers  of  Barbadoes.  As  well  ask  the  beadle 
for  pity  when  he  flogs  a  'prentice." 

"Let  me  go  to  the  master,  then.?  " 

"  Best  not — best  not.  Let  this  man  die,  and  keep  your- 
self alive.  The  morning  is  the  worst  time  for  him,  because 
last  night's  drink  is  still  in  his  head.  Likely  as  not  you  will 
only  make  the  sick  man's  case,  and  your  own,  worse. 
Leave  him  in  the  sick-house,  and  go  back  to  him  in  the 
evening." 

The  man  spoke  with  some  compassion  in  his  eyes.  Just 
then,  however,  a  negro  boy  came  running  from  the  houses 
and  spoke  to  the  overseer. 

"  \Vhy,"  he  said,  "  nothing  could  be  more  pat.  You  can 
speak  to  the  master  if  you  please.  He  is  in  pain,  and  madam 
sends  for  Dr.  Humphrey  Challis.  Go,  doctor.  If  you  cure 
him,  you  will  be  a  lucky  man.  If  you  cannot  cure  him, 
the  Lord  have  mercy  upon  you  !  Whereas,  if  you  suffer 
him  to  die,"  he  added,  with  a  grin  and  a  whisper,  "every 
man  on  the  estate  will  fall  down  and  worship  you.  Let 
him  die— let  him  die." 

I  followed  the  boy,  who  took  me  to  that  part  of  the 
house  which  fronts  the  west  and  north.  It  was  a  mean 
house  of  wood,  low  and  small,  considering  how  wealthy  a 
man  was  the  master  of  it ;  on  three  sides,  however,  there 
was  built  out  a  kind  of  loggia,  as  the  Italians  call  it,  of 
wood  instead  of  marble,  forming  a  cloister,  or  open  cham- 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 


305 


ber,  outside  the  house.  They  call  it  a  veranda,  and  part  ot 
it  they  hang  with  mats,  made  of  grass,  so  as  to  keep  it 
shaded  in  the  afternoon  and  evening,  when  the  sun  is  in 
the  west  The  boy  brought  me  to  this  place,  pointed  to  a 
chair  where  the  master  sat,  and  then  ran  away  as  quickly 
as  he  could. 

It  was  easy  to  understand  why  he  ran  away.  Because 
the  master,  at  this  moment,  sprang  out  of  his  chair,  and  be- 
gan to  stamp  up  and  down  the  veranda,  roaring  and  curs- 
ing. He  was  clad  in  a  white  linen  dressing-gown  and  linen 
nightcap.  On  a  small  table  beside  him  stood  a  bottle  of 
beer,  newly  opened,  and  a  silver  tankard. 

When  he  saw  me,  he  began  to  swear  at  me  for  my  delay 
in  coming,  though  I  had  not  lost  a  moment. 

"Sir,"  I  said,  "  if  you  will  cease  railing  and  blaspheming, 
I  will  examine  into  your  malady.  Otherwise,  I  will  do 
nothing  for  you. " 

"What !  "  he  cried,  "you  dare  to  make  conditions  with 
me,  you  dog,  you  ?  " 

"  Fair  words, "  I  said,  "fair  words.  lam  your  servant, 
to  work  on  your  plantation  as  you  may  command.  I  am 
not  your  physician  ;  and  I  promise  you,  sir,  upon  the  honor 
of  a  gentleman,  and  without  using  the  sacred  name  which 
is  so  often  on  your  lips,  that  if  you  continue  to  rail  at  me,  I 
will  suffer  you  to  die  rather  than  stir  a  little  finger  in  your 
help. " 

"Suffer  the  physician  to  examine  the  place,"  said  a  wom- 
an's voice,      "  What  good  is  it  to  curse  and  to  swear  .?  " 

The  voice  came  from  a  hammock  swinging  at  the  end  of 
the  veranda.  It  was  made,  I  observed,  of  a  kind  of  coarse 
grass  loosely  woven. 

The  man  sat  down,  sulkily  bade  me  find  a  remedy  for  the 
pain  which  he  was  enduring.  So  I  consented  ;  and  ex- 
amined his  upper  jaw,  where  I  soon  found  out  the  cause  of 
his  pain  in  a  good-sized  tumor,  formed  over  the  fangs  of  a 
grinder.  Such  a  thing  causes  agony  even  to  a  person  of 
cool  blood,  but  to  a  man  whose  veins  are  inflamed  with 
strong  drink  the  pain  of  it  is  maddening. 

"You  have  got  a  tumor,"  I  told  him.  "It  has  been 
forming  for  some  days.  It  has  now  nearly,  or  quite,  reached 
its  head.  It  began  about  the  time  when  you  w^ere  cursing 
and  insulting  certain  unfortunate  gentlemen  who  are  for  the 
time  under  your  power.  Take  it,  therefore,  as  a  divine 
judgment  upon  you  for  your  cruelty  and  insolence." 

He  glared  at  mc,    but  said  nothing,    the  hope  of  relief 

29 


3o6  /OA'  FAJTJI  AXD  FREEDOM. 

causing  fiim  to  receive  this  admonition  with  patience  if  not 
yn  g^ood  part.  Besides,  my  finger  was  still  upon  the  spot, 
and  if  I  so  much  as  pressed  gently  I  could  cause  him  agony 
unspeakable.     Truly,  the  power  of  the  physician' is  great. 

"■  The  pain,"  I  told  him,  "is  already  grown  almost  intol- 
erable. But  it  will  be  much  greater  in  a  few  hours  unless 
something  is  done.  It  is  now  like  unto  a  little  ball  of  red- 
hot  fire  in  your  jaw  ;  in  an  hour  or  two  it  will  seem  as  if  the 
whole  of  your  face  was  a  burning  fiery  furnace  ;  your  cheek 
will  swell  out  until  your  left  eye  is  closed  ;  your  tortures, 
which  now  make  you  bawl,  will  then  make  you  scream  ; 
you  now  walk  about  and  stamp  ;  you  will  then  lie  down  on 
your  back  and  kick.  No  negro  slave  ever  suffered  half  so 
much  under  your  accursed  lash  as  you  will  suffer  under  this 
tumor — unless  something  is  done."' 

"  Doctor  " — it  was  again  the  woman's  voice  froni  the  ham- 
mock— "you  have  frightened  him  enough." 

"Strong  drink,"  I  went  on,  pointing  to  the  tankard,  "will 
only  make  you  worse.  It  inflames  your  blood  and  adds 
fuel  to  the  raging  fire.  Unless  something  is  done,  the  pain 
will  be  followed  by  delirium,  that  by  fever,  and  the  fever  by 
death.     Sir,  are  you  prepared  for  death  .?  " 

He  turned  horribly  pale,  and  gasped. 

"Do  something  for  me,"  he  said.  "Do  something  for 
me,  and  that  without  more  words." 

"Nay,  but  I  will  first  make  a  bargain  with  you.  There 
is  in  the  sick-house  a  gentleman,  my  cousin,  Robin  Challis 
by  name,  one  of  the  newly  arrived  rebels,  and  your  servant. 
He  is  lying  sick  unto  death  of  a  sunstroke  and  fever,  caused 
by  your  hellish  cruelty  in  sending  him  out  to  work  in  the 
fields  with  the  negroes,  instead  of  putting  him  to  light  labor 
in  the  ingenio  or  elsewhere.  I  say,  his  sickness  is  caused 
by  your  barbarity.  Wherefore,  I  will  do  nothing  for  you  at 
all— do  you  hear  .'' — nothing — nothing — unless  I  am  set  free 
to  do  all  I  can  for  him.  Yea,  and  I  must  have  such  cordials 
and  generous  diet  as  the  place  can  afford,  otherwise  I  will 
not  stir  a  finger  to  help  you.  Otherwise  endure  the  torments 
of  the  damned  ;  ra\c  in  madness  and  in  fever.  Die,  and  go 
to  your  own  place.  I  will  not  help  you.  So.  That  is  my 
last  word. " 

Upon  this  I  really  thought  that  the  man  had  gone  stark 
staring  mad.  For,  at  the  impudence  of  a  mere  servant, 
though  a  gentleman  of  far  better  family  than  his  own,  dar- 
ing to  make  conditions  \\'ith  him.  he  became  purple  in  th« 
tlieeks,  and,  seizing  his  ^reat  stick,  which  lay  on  the  table. 


FOR  FATTH  ASW  FREEDOM.  307 

he  began  belaboring-  me  with  all  his  mig-ht  about  the  head 
and  shorlders.  But  I  caug-ht  up  a  chair  and  used  it  for  a 
shield,  while  he  capered  about,  striking  wildly  and  swear- 
ing most  horribly. 

At  this  moment  the  lady  who  was  in  the  hammock  stepped 
out  of  it  and  walked  towards  us  slowly,  like  a  queen.  She 
was  without  any  doubt  the  most  beautiful  woman  I  had 
ever  seen.  She  was  dressed  in  a  kind  of  dressing-gown  of 
flowered  silk,  which  covered  her  from  head  to  foot ;  her 
head  was  adorned  with  the  most  lovely  glossy-black  ring- 
lets ;  a  heavy  gold  chain  lay  round  her  neck,  and  a  chain  of 
gold  with  pearls  was  twined  in  her  hair  so  that  it  looked 
like  a  coronet ;  her  fingers  were  covered  with  rings,  and 
gold  bracelets  hung  upon  her  bare  white  arms.  Her  figure 
was  tall  and  full  ;  her  face  inclined  to  the  Spanish,  being 
full  and  yet  regular,  with  large  black  eyes.  Though  I  was 
fighting  with  a  madman,  I  could  not  resist  the  wish  that  I 
could  paint  her.  And  I  plainly  perceived  that  she  was  one 
of  that  race  which  is  called  quadroon,  being  most  likely  the 
daughter  of  a  mulatto  woman  and  a  white  father.  This 
was  evident  by  the  character  of  her  skin,  which  had  in  it 
what  the  Italians  call  the  morhidessa,  and  by  a  certain  dark 
hue  under  the  eyes. 

"  Why,"  she  said,  speaking  to  the  master  as  if  he  had  been 
a  petulant  schoolboy,  "you  only  make  yourself  worse  by 
all  this  fury.  Sit  down  and  lay  aside  your  stick.  And  you, 
sir,"  she  addressed  herself  to  me,  "you  may  be  a  great 
physician  and  at  home  a  gentleman  ;  but  here  you  are  a 
servant,  and,  therefore,  bound  to  help  your  master  in  all 
you  can  without  first  making  conditions." 

"I  know  too  well,"  I  replied.  "He  bought  me  as  his 
servant,  but  not  as  his  physician.  I  will  not  heal  him  with- 
out my  fee.  And  my  fee  is  that  my  sick  cousin  be  attended 
tf)  with  humanity." 

"  Take  him  away  !  "  cried  the  master,  beside  himself  with 
rage.  "Clap  him  in  the  stocks.  Let  him  sit  there  all  day 
long  in  the  sun.  He  shall  have  nothing  to  eat  or  to  drink. 
In  the  evening  he  shall  be  flogged.  If  it  were  the  Duke  of 
Monmouth  himself  he  should  be  tied  up  and  flogged. 
Where  the  devil  are  the  servants  .-* " 

A  great  hulking  negro  came  running. 

"Vouhave  now,"  I  told  him  quietly,  "permitted  your- 
self to  be  inflamed  with  violent  rage.  The  pain  will  there- 
fore more  rapidly  increase  ;  when  it  becomes  intolerable  you 
will  be  glad  to  send  for  me." 


The  negro  dragged  nie  away  (but  I  made  no  resistance), 
and  led  me  to  the  courtyard  where  stood  the  stocks  and  a 
whipping-post.  He  pointed  to  the  latter  with  a  horrid  grin, 
and  then  laid  me  fast  in  the  former.  Fortunately  he  left  me 
my  hat,  otherwise  the  hot  sun  would  have  made  an  end  of 
me.  I  was,  however,  quite  easy  in  my  mind.  I  knew 
that  this  poor  wretch,  who  already  suffered  so  horribly, 
would  before  long  feel  in  that  jaw  of  his,  as  it  were,  a  ball 
ol  re;  he  would  drink  in  order  to  deaden  the  pain,  but  the 
win  would  only  make  the  agony  more  horrible.  Then  he 
would  be  forced  to  send  for  me. 

This,  in  fact,  was  exactly  what  he  did. 

I  sat  in  those  abominable  stocks  for  no  more  than  an 
hour.  Then  madam  herself  came  to  me  followed  by  the 
negro  fellow  who  had  locked  my  heels  in  those  two  holes. 

"He  is  now  much  worse, "  she  said.  "He  is  now  in 
pain  that  cannot  be  endured.  Canst  thou  truly  relieve  his 
sufferings  ?  " 

"  Certainly  I  can.  But  on  conditions.  INfy  cousin  will 
die  if  he  is  neglected.  Suffer  me  to  minister  to  his  needs. 
Give  me  what  I  want  for  him  and  I  will  cure  your — "  I  did 
not  know  whether  I  might  say  "your  husband" — so  I 
changed  the  words  into  "  my  master.  After  that  I  will 
cheerfully  endure  again  his  accursed  cruelty  of  the  fields." 

She  bade  the  negro  unlock  the  bar. 

"Come,"  she  said.  "Let  us  hear  no  more  about  any 
bargains.  I  will  see  to  it  that  you  are  able  to  attend  to 
your  cousin.  Nay,  there  is  an  unfortunate  young  gentle- 
woman here,  a  rebel,  and  a  servant  like  yourself;  for  the 
fast  week  she  doth  nothing  but  weep  for  the  misfortunes  of 
her  friends  ;  meaning  you  and  your  company.  I  will  ask 
her  to  nurse  the  sick  man.  She  will  desire  nothing  better, 
being  a  most  tender-hearted  woman.  And  as  for  you,  it 
will  be  easy  for  you  to  look  after  your  cousin  and  your 
master  at  the  same  timcj." 

"Then,  madam,"  I  replied,  "take  me  to  him,  and  I  will 
speedily  do  all  I  can  ^o  relieve  him. " 

I  found  my  patient  in  a  condition  of  mind  and  body  most 
dangerous.  I  wondered  that  he  had  not  already  fallen  into 
a  fit,  so  great  was  his  wrath  and  so  dreadful  his  pain.  He 
rolled  his  eyes,  his  cheeks  were  purple,  he  clenched  his  fists, 
he  would  have  gnashed  his  teeth  but  for  the  pain  in  his  jaw. 
'■  Make  yourself  easy,"  said  madam.  "This  learned  phy- 
sician will  cause  your  pain  to  cease.  I  have  talked  with 
him,  and  put  him  into  a  better  mind." 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 


3oy 


The  master  shook  his  head,  as  much  as  to  say  that  abetter 
mind  would  hardly  be  arrived  at  without  the  assistance  oi 
the  whipping-post  But  the  emergency  of  the  case  prevented 
that  indulgence.  Briefly,  therefore,  I  took  out  my  lancet 
and  pierced  the  place,  which  instantly  relieved  the  pain. 
Then  I  placed  him  in  bed,  bled  him  copiously,  and  forbade 
his  taking  anything  stronger  than  small  beer.  Freedom 
from  pain  and  exhaustion  presently  caused  him  to  fall  into  a 
deep  and  tranquil  sleep.  After  all  this  was  done,  I  was 
anxious  to  see  Robin. 

"  Madam,"  I  said,  "  I  have  now  done  all  I  can.  He  will 
awake  at  noon,  I  dare  say.  Give  him  a  little  broth,  but  not 
much.  There  is  danger  of  fever.  You  had  better  call  me 
again  when  he  awakes.  Warn  him,  solemnly,  that  rage, 
revenge,  cursing  and  beating  must  be  all  postponed  untii 
such  time  as  he  is  stronger.  I  go  to  visit  my  cousin  in  the 
sick-house,  where  I  await  your  commands." 

"  Sir, "  she  said,  courteously,  "  I  cannot  sufficiently  thatik 
your  skill  and  zeal.  You  will  find  the  nurse  of  whom  I 
spoke  in  the  sick-room  with  your  cousin.  She  took  with 
her  some  cordial,  and  will  tell  me  what  else  you  order  for 
your  patient.  I  hope  your  cousin  may  recover.  But  in- 
deed— "  she  stopped  and  sighed. 

"You  would  say,  madam,  that  it  would  be  better  for  him, 
and  for  all  of  us,  to  die  ;  perhaps  so.  But  we  must  not 
choose  to  die,  but  rather  strive  to  live,  as  more  in  accord- 
ance with  the  Word  of  God." 

"The  white  servants  have  been  hitherto  the  common 
rogues  and  thieves,  and  sweepings  of  your  English  streets," 
she  said.  "Sturdy  rogues  are  they  all,  who  fear  naught 
but  the  lash,  and  have  nothing  of  tenderness  left  but  tender 
skins  ;  they  rob  and  steal  ;  they  will  not  work,  save  by 
compulsion  ;  they  are  far  worse  than  the  negroes  for  lazi- 
ness and  drunkenness.  I  know  not  why  they  are  sent  out, 
or  why  the  planters  buy  them,  when  the  blacks  do  so  much 
better  serve  their  turn,  and  they  can  without  rei)roach  beat 
and  flog  the  negroes,  while  to  flog  and  beat  the  whites  is  by 
some  accounted  cruel." 

"All  this,  madam,  is  doubtless  true,  but  my  friends  are 
not  the  sweeping  of  the  street." 

"  No,  but  you  are  treated  as  if  you  were.  It  is  n  new 
thing  having  gentlemen  among  the  servants,  and  the  plant- 
ers are  not  yet  accustomed  to  them.  They  are  a  masterful 
and  a  wilful  folk,  the  planters  of  Barbadoes  ;  from  childhood 
upward  they  have  their  own  war,  nnd  brook  not  oppositioi), 


310 


FOR  FAITH  A.\'D  FREEDOM. 


You  have  seen  into  what  a  madness  of  wrath  you  threw  the 
master  by  your  opposition.  Believe  me,  sir,  the  place  is  not 
wholesome  for  you  and  for  your  friends.  The  master  looks 
to  get  a  profit,  not  from  your  labor,  but  by  your  ransom. 
Sir,"  she  looked  me  very  earnestly  in  the  face,  "if  you 
have  friends  at  home,  if  you  have  any  friends  at  all,  entreat 
them,  command  them,  immediately  to  send  money  for  your 
ransom.  It  will  not  cost  them  much.  If  you  do  not  get  the 
money  you  will  most  assuredly  die,  with  the  life  that  you 
will  have  to  live.  All  the  white  servants  die  except  the  very 
strongest  and  lustiest,  whether  they  work  in  the  fields  or  in 
the  garden,  or  in  the  ingenio,  or  in  the  stables — they  die. 
They  cannot  endure  the  hot  sun  and  the  hard  fare.  They 
presently  catch  fever,  or  a  calenture,  or  a  cramp,  and  so 
they  die.  This  young  gentlewoman  who  is  now  with  your 
cousin  will  presently  fall  into  melancholy  and  die.  There 
is  no  help  for  her,  or  for  you — believe  me,  sir — there  is  no 
hope  but  to  get  your  freedom."  She  broke  off  here,  and 
never  at  any  other  time  spoke  to  me  again  upon  this  sub- 
ject. 

In  three  weeks'  time,  indeed,  we  were  to  regain  our  free- 
dom, but  not  in  the  way  madam  imagined. 

Before  I  go  on  to  tell  of  the  wonderful  surprise  which 
awaited  me,  I  must  say  that  there  was,  after  this  day,  no 
more  any  question  about  field  Avork  for  me.  In  this  island 
there  was  then  a  great  scarcity  of  physicians — nay,  there 
were  none  properly  qualified  to  call  themselves  physicians, 
though  a  few  quacks  ;  the  sick  servants  on  the  estates  were 
attended  by  the  negresses,  some  of  whom  have,  I  confess,  a 
wonderful  knowledge  of  herbs,  in  which  respect  they  may 
be  likened  to  our  countrywomen,  who  for  fevers,  agues, 
toothache,  and  the  like,  are  as  good  as  any  physician  in  the 
world.  It  was  therefore  speedily  rumored  abroad  that  there 
was  a  physician  upon  my  masters  estate,  whereupon  there 
was  immediately  a  great  demand  for  his  services ;  and  hence- 
forth I  went  daily,  with  the  master's  consent,  to  visit  the  sick 
people  on  the  neighboring  estates  ;  nay,  I  was  even  called 
upon  by  his  excellency  the  lieutenant-governor  himself,  Mr. 
Steed,  for  a  complaint  from  which  he  suffered.  And  I  noV 
only  gave  advice  and  medicines,  but  I  also  received  a  fee, 
just  as  if  I  had  been  practicing  in  London.  But  the  fees 
went  to  my  master,  who  took  them  all,  and  offered  me  no 
better  diet  than  before.  That,  however,  mattered  little,  be- 
cause wherever  I  went  I  asked  for  and  always  received  food 
of  a  more  g-encrous  kind,  and  a  glass  or  two  of  wine,  so  that 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 


3ir 


I  fared  well  and  kept  my  health  during  the  short  time  that 
we  remained  upon  the  island.  I  had  also  to  thank  madam 
for  many  a  glass  of  Madeira,  dish  of  cocoa,  plate  of  fruit, 
and  other  things,  not  only  for  my  patient  Robin,  but  also 
for  myself,  and  for  another,  of  whom  I  have  now  to  speak. 

When,  therefore,  the  master  was  at  length  free  from  p.iin, 
and  in  a  comfortable  sleep,  I  left  him,  with  madam's  per- 
mission, and  sought  the  sick-house  in  a  most  melancholy 
mood,  because  I  believed  that  Robin  would  surely  die  what- 
ever I  should  do.  And  I  confess  that,  having  had  but  little 
experience  of  sunstroke,  and  the  kind  of  fever  Avhich  follow- 
eth  upon  it,  and  having  no  books  to  consult,  and  no  medicine 
at  hand,  I  knew  not  what  I  could  do  for  him.  And  the 
boasted  skill  of  the  physician,  one  must  confess,  availeth  lit- 
tle against  a  disease  which  hath  once  laid  hold  upon  a  man. 
'Tis  better  for  him  so  to  order  the  lives  of  his  patients  while 
they  are  well  as  to  prevent  disease,  just  as  those  who 
dwell  beside  an  unruly  river,  as  I  have  seen  upon  the  great 
river  Rhone,  build  up  a  high  levee,  or  bank,  which  it  cannot 
pass. 

In  the  sick-house,  the  floor  was  of  earth  without  boards  ; 
there  was  no  other  furniture  but  two  or  three  wooden  pallets ; 
on  each  a  coarse  mattress  with  a  rug  ;  and  all  was  horribly 
filthy,  unwashed,  and  foul.  Beside  the  pallet  where  Robin 
lay  there  knelt,  praying,  a  woman  with  her  head  in  her 
hands.  Heavens  !  There  was  then  in  this  dark  and  heath- 
enif^h  place  one  woman  who  still  remembered  her  Maker. 

Robin  was  awake.  His  restless  eyes  rolled  about,  his 
hands  clutched  uneasily  at  his  blanket,  and  he  was  talking. 
Alas  !  the  poet"  brain,  disordered  and  wandering,  carried  him 
back  to  the  old  village.  He  was  at  home  again  in  imagina- 
tion, though  we  were  so  far  away.  Yea,  he  had  crossed 
the  broad  Atlantic,  and  was  in  fair  Somerset  among  the 
orchards  and  the  hills.  And  only  to  hear  him  talk  me  tears 
rolled  down  my  cheeks. 

■'Grace, "he  said.  Alas!  he  thought  that  he  was  again 
with  the  sweet  companion  of  his  youth.  "Grace,  the  nuts 
arc  ripe  in  the  woods.  We  will  to-morrow  take  a  basket  and 
go  gather  them.  Benjamin  shall  not  come  to  spoil  sport  ; 
besides,  he  would  want  to  cat  them  all  himself  Humphrey 
shall  come,  and  you,  and  I     That  will  be  enough. " 

Then  his  thoughts  changed  again.  "Oh,  my  dear,"  he 
said — in  a  moment  he  had  passed  over  ten  years,  and  was 
now  with  his  mistress,  a  child  no  longer —  "  My  dear,  thou 
hast  so  sweet  a  face.     Nowhere  in  the  whole  world  is  there 


3i« 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 


SO  sweet  a  face.  I  have  always  loved  thy  face ;  not  a  day 
but  it  has  been  in  my  mind.  Always  my  love,  my  sweet- 
heart, my  soul,  my  life.  My  dear,  we  will  never  leave  the 
country  ;  we  want  no  grandeur  of  rank  and  state  and  town  ; 
we  will  always  continue  here.  Old  age  shall  find  vis  lovers 
still.  Death  cannot  part  us ;  oh,  my  dear  ;  save  for  a  little 
while,  and  then  sweet  Heaven  will  unite  us  again  to  love 
each  other  forever  and  forever — " 

"Oh,   Robin!  Robin!  Robin!" 

I  knew  that  voice.  Oh,  heavens  !  'Was  I  dreaming?  Was  I 
too,  wandering .'     Were  we  all  back  in  Somerset .'' 

For  the  voice  was  none  other  than  the  voice  of  Grace  her- 
ael£ 


CHAPTER  XUL 

GRACE. 

"Grace  I"  I  cried. 

She  rose  from  her  knees  and  turned  to  meet  me.  Het 
face  was  pale ;  her  eyes  were  heavy,  and  they  were  full  ot 
tears, 

"Grace  !  " 

"  I  saw  you  when  you  came  here,  a  week  ago,"  she  said. 
*'  Oh,  Humphrey,  I  saw  you,  and  I  was  ashamed  to  let 
you  know  that  1  was  here." 

"Ashamed?  My  dear,  ashamed?  But  now — why  — 
what  dost  thou  here  ?  " 

"  How  could  I  meet  Robin's  eyes  after  what  I  had  done?" 

"  It  was  done  for  him,  and  for  his  mother,  and  for  all  of 
us.      Poor  child,  there  is  no  reason  to  be  ashamed." 

"And  now  I  meet  him  and  he  is  in  a  fever  and  his  mind 
wanders.      He  knows  me  not.  " 

"He  is  sorely  stricken,  Grace.  I  know  not  how  the 
disease  may  end — mind  and  body  are  sick  alike.  For  the 
mind  I  can  do  nothing,  for  the  body  I  can  do  little  ;  yet, 
with  cleanliness  and  good  food  we  may  hel]:)  him  to  mend. 
But  tell  me,  child,  in  the  name  of  Heaven,  how  earnest  thou 
in  this  place  ?  " 

But  before  anything  she  would  attend  to  the  sick  man. 
Amd  presently  she  brought  half  a  dozen  negresses,  who 
cleaned  and  swept  the  place,  and  sheets  were  fetched,  and 


POR  FAITH  AiVD  FREEDOM. 


313 


a  linen  shirt,  in  which  we  dressed  our  patient,  with  such 
other  things  as  we  could  devise  for  his  comfort.  Then  I 
bathed  his  head  with  cold  water,  continually  changing-  his 
bandages,  so  as  to  keep  him  cool  ;  and  I  took  some  blood 
from  him,  but  not  much,  because  he  was  greatly  reduced 
oy  bad  food  and  hard  work. 

When  he  was  a  little  easier  we  talked.  But,  heavens !  to 
think  of  the  villainy  which  had  worked  its  will  upon  this 
poor  child  !  As  if  it  were  not  enough  that  she  should  be 
forced  to  fly  from  a  man  who  had  so  strangely  betrayed 
her  !  And  as  if  it  were  not  enough  that  she  should  be  robbed 
of  all  her  money,  but  she  must  also  be  put  on  board 
falsely  and  treacherously,  as  one,  like  ourselves,  sentenced 
to  ten  years'  servitude  in  the  plantations  !  For,  indeed,  I 
knew  and  was  quite  certain  that  none  of  the  maids  of 
Taunton  were  thus  sent  abroad.  It  was  notorious,  before 
we  were  sent  away,  that,  with  the  exception  of  Susan  Blake, 
who  died  of  jail  fever  at  Dorchester,  all  the  maids  were 
given  to  the  queen's  ladies,  and  by  them  suffered  to  go 
free  on  the  payment  by  their  parents  of  thirty  to  forty  pounds 
apiece.  And  as  for  Grace,  she  was  a  stranger  in  the  place, 
and  it  was  not  known  that  she  had  joined  that  unfortunate 
procession.  So  that  if  ever  a  man  was  kidnapper  and  vil- 
lian,  that  man  was  George  Penne. 

It  behooves  a  physican  to  keep  his  mind,  under  all  circum- 
stances, calmed  and  composed.  He  must  not  suffer  him- 
self to  be  carried  away  by  passion,  by  rage,  hatred,  or  even 
anxiety  ;  yet  I  confess  that  my  mind  was  clean  distracted 
by  the  discovery  that  Grace  herself  was  with  us,  a  prisoner 
like  ourselves.  I  was,  I  say,  distracted,  nor  could  I  tell 
what  to  think  of  this  event  and  its  consequences.  For,  to 
begin  with,  the  pooi  child  was  near  those  who  would  protect 
her.  But  what  kind  of  protection  could  be  given  by  such 
helpless  slaves  ?  Then  was  she  beyond  her  husband's 
reach  ;  he  would  not,  it  was  quite  certain,  get  possession  of 
her  at  this  vast  distance.  So  far  she  was  safe.  But  'hen 
the  master  who  looked  to  make  a  i)rofit  by  her,  as  he  looked 
to  make  a  profit  by  us — through  the  ransom  of  her  fric:  .ds  ! 
She  had  no  friends  to  ransom  her.  There  was  but  one — 
the  rector — and  he  was  her  husband's  father.  The  time 
would  come  when  the  avarice  of  the  master  would  make 
him  do  or  threaten  something  barbarous  towards  her.  Then 
she  had  found  favor  with  madam,  this  beautiful  mulatto 
woman,  whom  Grace  innocently  supposed  to  be  the  master's 
wife.     And  there  was  the  young  planter,  who  wished  to 


^14  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

buy  her  with  the  honorable  intention  of  marrying  her.  In 
short,  I  know  not  what  to  think  or  to  say,  because  at  one 
moment  it  seemed  as  if  it  were  the  most  providential  thing 
in  the  world  that  Grace  should  have  been  brought  here, 
and  the  next  moment  it  seemed  as  if  her  presence  only 
magnified  our  evils. 

"Nay,"  she  said,  when  I  opened  my  mind  to  her, 
"seeing  that  the  world  is  so  large,  what  but  a  special  rul- 
ing of  Providence  could  have  brought  us  all  to  this  same 
island,  out  of  the  whole  multitude  of  isles,  and  then  again 
to  this  same  estate,  out  of  so  many.''  Humphrey,  your 
faith  was  wont  to  be  stronger.  I  believe — nay,  I  am 
quite  sure — that  it  was  for  the  strengthening  and  help  of 
all  alike  that  this  hath  been  ordained,  First,  it  enables  me 
to  nurse  my  poor  Robin  ;  mine,  alas  !  no  longer.  Yet 
must  I  still  love  him  as  long  as  I  have  a  heart  to  beat." 

"  Love  him  always,  child,"  I  said  ;  "  this  is  no  sin  to  love 
the  companion  of  thy  childhood,  thy  sweetheart,  from 
whom  thou  wast  torn  by  the  most  wicked  treachery — "  but 
could  say  no  more,  because  the  contemplation  of  that 
sweet  face,  now  so  mournful,  yet  so  patient,  made  my  voice 
to  choke  and  my  eyes  to  fill  with  tears.  Said  I  not  that  a 
physician  must  still  keep  his  mind  free  from  all  emotion  ? 

All  that  day  I  conversed  with  her.  We  agreed  that,  for 
the  present,  she  should  neither  acknowledge  nor  conceal  the 
truth  from  madam,  upon  whose  good-will  was  now  placed 
all  our  hopes.  That  is  to  say,  if  madam  questioned  her  she 
was  to  acknowledge  that  we  were  her  former  friends  ;  but  if 
madam  neither  suspected  anything  nor  asked  her  anything 
she  should  keep  the  matter  to  herself  She  told  me  during 
this  day  all  that  had  happened  unto  her  since  I  saw  her  last, 
when  we  marched  out  of  Taunton.  Among  other  things,  I 
heard  of  the  woman  called  Deb,  who  was  now  working  in 
the  corn-fields  (she  was  one  of  a  company  whose  duty  it 
was  to  weed  the  canes).  In  the  evening  this  woman,  when 
the  people  returned,  came  to  the  sick-house.  She  was  a 
great,  strapping  woman,  stronger  than  most  men.  She  was 
dressed,  like  all  the  women  on  the  estate,  in  a  smock  and 
petticoat,  with  a  thick  coif  to  keep  off  the  sun,  and  a  pair  of 
strong  shoes. 

She  came  to  help  her  mistress,  as  she  fondly  called  Grace. 
She  wanted  to  sit  up  and  watch  the  sick  man.  so  that  her 
mistress  might  go  to  sleep  ;  but  Grace  refused.  Then  this 
taithful  creature  rolled  herself  up  in  her  rug  and  laid  herself 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 


3^5 


at  the  door,  so  that  no  one  should  g-o  in  or  out  without  step- 
ping over  her  ;  and  so  she  fell  asleep. 

Then  we  began  our  night-watch,  and  talked  in  whispers, 
sitting  by  the  bedside  of  the  fevered  man.  Presently  I  for- 
got the  wretchedness  of  our  condition,  the  place  where  we 
were,  our  hopeless,  helpless  lot,  our  anxieties  and  our  fears, 
in  the  joy  and  happiness  of  once  more  conversing  with  my 
mistress.  She  spoke  to  me  after  the  manner  of  the  old  days, 
but  with  more  seriousness,  about  the  marvellous  workings 
of  the  Lord  among  his  people,  and  presently  we  began  to 
talk  of  the  music  which  we  love  to  play,  and  how  the  sweet 
concord  and  harmony  of  the  notes  lifts  up  the  soul  ;  and  of 
pictures  and  painting,  and  ]\Ir.  Boscorel's  drawings  and  my 
own  poor  attempts,  and  my  studies  in  the  schools,  and  so 
forth,  as  if  my  life  were  indeed  but  just  beginning,  and  in- 
stead of  the  Monmouth  cap  and  the  canvas  breeches  and 
common  shirt  I  was  once  more  arrayed  in  velvet,  with  a 
physician's  wig  and  a  gold-headed  cane. 

Lastly,  she  prayed,  entreating  merciful  Heaven  to  bestow 
health  of  mind  and  enlargement  of  body  to  the  sick  man 
upon  the  bed,  and  her  brother,  and  her  dear  friend  (meaning 
myself),  and  to  all  the  poor  sufferers  for  religion.  And  she 
asked  that,  as  it  had  been  permitted  that  she  should  be 
taken  from  her  earthly  lover  by  treachery,  so  it  might  now 
be  granted  to  her  to  lay  down  her  life  for  his,  so  that  he 
might  go  free  and  she  die  in  his  place. 

Through  the  open  window  I  saw  the  four  stars  which 
make  the  constellation  they  call  the  Cruseroes,  being  like  a 
cross  fixed  in  the  heavens.  The  night  was  still,  and  there 
was  no  sound  save  the  shrill  noise  of  the  cigala,  which  is 
here  as  shrill  as  in  Padua.  Slave  and  master,  bondman  and 
free  were  all  asleep  save  in  this  house,  where  Robin  rolled 
his  heavy  head  and  murmured  without  ceasing,  ami 
Grace  communed  with  her  God.  Surely,  surely,  I  thought, 
here  was  fio  room  for  doul)t.  Tliis  my  mistress  had  been 
brought  here  by  the  hand  of  God  himself  to  be  as  an  angel 
or  messenger  of  his  own  for  our  help  and  succor — haply  for  our 
spiritual  help  alone,  seeing;  that  no  longer  was  there  any  help 
from  man. 


3i6  i^OR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 


CHAPTER  XLIII. 

BARNABY    HEARS    THE    NEWS. 

Th«  master,  my  patient,  got  up  from  his  bed  in  a  few 
days,  somewhat  pale  and  weak  after  his  copious  blood-let- 
ting- and  the  drastic  medicines  with  which  I  purged  the  gross- 
ness  of  his  habit  and  expelled  the  noxious  humors  caused 
by  his  many  intemperances.  These  had  greatly  injured 
what  we  call  (because  we  know  not  what  it  is  nor  what 
else  to  call  it)  the  pure  volatile  spirit,  and,  so  to  speak, 
turned  sour  the  humor  radicalis,  the  sweet  oil  and  balsamical 
virtues  of  the  body.  I  gave  him  such  counsel  as  was  fitting 
for  his  case,  admonishing  him  urgently  to  abstain  from  strong 
liquors,  except  in  their  moderate  use  ;  to  drink  only  after 
his  meals,  to  keep  his  head  cool  and  sober,  and,  above  all 
things,  to  repress  and  govern  his  raging  temper,  which 
would  otherwise  most  certainly  catch  him  by  the  throat  like 
some  fierce  and  invisible  devil,  and  throw  him  into  a  fit,  and 
so  kill  him.  I  told  him,  also,  what  might  be  meant  by  the 
wise  man  (who  certainly  thought  of  all  the  bearings  which 
his  words  could  have)  when  he  said  that  one  who  is  slow  to 
wrath  is  of  great  understanding,  namely,  that  many  men  do 
throw  away  their  lives  by  falling  into  excessive  fits  of  rage. 
But  I  found  that  the  words  of  Holy  Scripture  had  ^ittle  au- 
thority over  him:  for  he  lived  without  prayer  or  praise, 
trampled  on  the  laws  of  God,  and  gave  no  heed  at  all  to  the 
flight  of  time  and  the  coming  of  the  next  world. 

For  a  day  or  two  he  followed  my  injunctions,  taking  a 
tankard  of  small  ale  to  his  breakfast,  the  same  quantity  with 
his  dinner,  a  pint  of  INladeira  for  his  supper,  and  a  sober 
glass  or  two  before  going  to  bed.  But  when  he  grew  well 
his  brother  planters  came  round  him  again,  the  drinking 
was  renewed,  and  in  the  morning  I  would  find  him  again 
with  parched  throat,  tongue  dry,  and  shaking  hand,  ready 
to  belabor,  to  curse,  and  to  rail  at  everybody.  If  one 
wanted  an  example  for  the  young  how  strong  drink  biteth 
like  a  serpent  and  stingeth  like  an  adder,  here  was  a  case 
the  sight  of  which  might  have  caused  all  young  men  to  for- 
swear drunkenness.  Alas  !  there  are  plenty  of  such  ex- 
amples to  be  seen  in  every  part  of  England,  yet  the  younger 


FOR  FAITH  AXD  FREEDOM'. 


zn 


men  still  continue  to  drink,  and  that,  I  think,  worse  than 
their  fathers.  This  man,  however,  who  was  not  yet  five- 
and-thirty,  in  the  very  prime  of  strong  and  healthy  man- 
hood, had  his  finger-joints  swollen  and  stony  from  taking- 
much  wine  ;  he  commonly  ate  but  little  meat,  craving  con- 
tinually for  more  drink  ;  and  his  understanding,  which  was 
by  nature,  I  doubt  not,  clear  and  strong,  was  now  brutish 
and  stupid.  Thinking  over  this  man,  and  of  the  power, 
even  unto  death,  which  he  possessed  over  his  servants  and 
slaves,  the  words  came  into  my  mind,  "It  is  not  for  kings, 
O  Lemuel,  it  is  not  for  kings  to  drink  wine,  nor  for  princes 
strong  drink." 

Nay,  more  (and  this  I  say  knowing  that  many  godly  men 
will  not  agree  with  me),  I  am  fully  persuaded  that  there  is 
no  man  in  the  whole  world  so  good  and  so  strong  in  virtue 
and  rehgion  that  he  should  be  suffered  to  become  the  mas- 
ter or  despot  over  any  other  man,  even  over  a  company  of 
poor  and  ignorant  blacks,  or  a  gang  of  transported  thieves. 
When  I  think  of  those  unhappy  people,  driven  forth  in  the 
morning,  heavy-eyed  and  down-cast,  to  the  hard  day's 
work,  and  when  I  remember  how  they  crept  home  at  night, 
after  being  driven,  cursed,  and  beaten  all  day  long,  and 
when  I  think  upon  their  drivers,  overseers,  and  masters, 
and  of  their  hard  and  callous  hearts,  I  am  moved  to  cry 
aloud  (if  any  would  hear  me)  that  to  be  a  slave  is  wretched 
indeed,  but  that  to  own  and  drive  slaves  should  be  a  thing 
most  dangerous  for  one  who  would  continue  a  member  of 
Christ's  Church. 

When  I  told  Barnaby  the  surprising  news  that  his  sister 
was  not  only  safe,  but  was  a  servant,  like  ourselves,  upon 
the  same  estate,  I  looked  that  he  would  rejoice.  On  the 
contrary,  he  fell  into  a  strange  mood,  swearing  at  this  il 
stroke,  as  he  called  it.  He  said  that  he  never  had  Uie  least 
doubt  as  to  her  safety,  seeing  there  were  so  many  in  the 
West  Country  who  knew  and  respected  her  father,  and 
would  willingly  shelter  her.  Then  he  dwelt  upon  certain 
evils  of  which,  I  confess,  I  had  thought  little,  which  might 
befall  her.  And,  lastly,  he  set  forth  with  great  plainnessthe 
increased  dangers  in  escaping  when  one  has  to  carry  a  wo- 
man or  a  wounded  man — a  thing  he  pointed  out  which  had 
caused  his  own  capture  after  Scdgemoor. 

Then  he  opened  up  to  me  the  whole  business  of  our 
escape. 

"  Last  Saturday  night,"  he  said,  "while  you  were  sleep- 
ing, I  made  my  way  to  the  port,  and  having  a  few  shillings 


^T^  ^OR  I-'AIJ'JI  AND  FREEDOfd. 

left,  I  sought  out  a  tavern.  There  is  one  hard  by  the  Bridge, 
a  house  of  call  for  sailors,  where  I  had  the  good-fortune  to 
find  a  fellow  who  can  do  for  us  all  we  want,  if  his  money- 
hold  out,  which  I  doubt.  He  is  a  carver  by  trade,  and  a 
convict  like  ourselves,  but  is  permitted  by  his  master  to 
work  at  his  trade  in  the  town.  He  hath  been,  it  is  true, 
branded  in  the  hand,  but,  Lord,  what  signifies  that.'  He 
was  once  a  thief;  well,  he  is  now  an  honest  lad  again,  who 
asks  for  nothing  but  to  get  home  again.  John  Nuthall  is  his 
name." 

"Go  on,  Barnaby.  We  are  already  in  such  good  com- 
pany that  another  rogue  or  two  matters  little." 

"This  man  came  here  secretly  last  night,  while  you  were 
in  the  sick-house,  lad.  He  is  very  hot  upon  gettLiig  away. 
And  because  I  am  a  sailor,  and  can  navigate  a  craft  (which 
he  cannot  do),  he  will  take  with  him  not  only  myself,  but 
also  all  my  party.  Now  listen,  Humphrey.  He  hath 
bought  a  boat  of  a  Guinea  man  in  the  harbor  ;  and  because, 
to  prevent  the  escape  of  servants,  every  boat  is  licensed, 
and  her  owner  has  to  give  security  to  the  governor's  ofticers, 
he  hath  taken  this  boat,  secretly,  up  a  little  creek  of  which 
he  knows,  and  hath  there  sunk  her  three  feet  deep.  The 
masts,  the  sails,  the  oars,  and  the  other  gear  he  hath  also 
bestowed  in  a  secret  place.  But  we  cannot  sail  without 
Water,  provisions,  nor  without  a  compass,  at  least.  If  our 
party  is  to  consist  of  sister,  Robin,  you,  Joha  Nuthall,  and 
myself,  live  in  all,  we  shall  have  to  load  the  boat  with  pro- 
visions, and  I  must  have  a  compass.  I  look  for  a  boatful 
with  ourselves  and  John  Nuthall.  Now  we  have  Sis  as 
well ;  and  the  boat  is  but  small.  Where  shall  we  get  pro- 
visions }  and  where  shall  we  lay  our  hands  upon  the  money 
to  buy  what  we  want  ?  " 

He  could  talk  of  nothing  else,  because  his  mind  was  full 
of  his  plan.  Yet  it  seemed  to  me  a  most  desperate  enter- 
prise thus  to  launch  a  small  boat  upon  the  wide  ocean,  and 
in  this  cockleshell  to  brave  the  waves  which  are  often  fatal 
to  the  tallest  ships. 

"Tut,  man,"  said  Barnaby.  "We  are  not  now  in  the 
season  of  the  tornadoes,  and  there  is  no  other  danger  upon 
these  seas.  I  would  as  lief  be  in  an  open  boat  as  in  a 
brigantine.  Sharks  may  follow  us,  but  they  will  not  attack 
a  boat  ;  calamaries  they  talk  of,  big  enough  to  lay  their 
arms  round  the  boat,  and  so  to  drag  it  under  ;  but  such 
monsters  have  I  never  seen,  any  more  than  I  have  seen  the 
j:reat  whale  of  Norway  or  the  monstrous  birds  of  the  South" 


FOR  I'A/TH  AND  FREEDOM. 


319 


em  Seas.  There  is  only  one  danger,  Humphrey,  my  lad  " — 
here  he  laid  his  hand  upon  mine,  and  became  mighty 
serious — "if  we  are  taken  we  shall  be  flogged,  all  of  us. 
Thirty-nine  lashes  they  will  lay  on,  and  they  will  brand  us. 
For  myself,  I  value  not  their  thirty-nine  lashes  a  brass  farth- 
ing, nor  their  branding  with  a  hot  iron,  which  can  but  make 
a  man  jump  for  a  day  or  two.  To  me  this  risk  against  the 
chance  of  escape  matters  nothing.  Why,  when  I  was 
cabin-boy  I  got  daily  more  than  thirty-nine  lashes,  kicks, 
cuffs,  and  rope's-endings.  Nay,  I  remember,  when  we  sat 
over  the  Latin  syntax  together,  my  daily  ration  must  have 
been  thirty-nine,  more  or  less,  and  dad's  ami  was  stronger 
than  you  would  judge  to  look  at  him.  If  they  catch  me,  let 
them  lay  on  their  thirty-nine,  and  be  damned  to  them.  But 
you  and  Robin,  I  doubt,  think  otherwise. " 

"I  would  not  willingly  be  flogged,  Barnaby,  if  there  were 
any  way  of  escape,  even  by  death." 

"So  I  thought.     So  I  thought." 

"And  as  for  Robin,  if  he  recovers,  which  I  doubt,  he, 
too,  if  I  know  him,  would  rather  be  killed  than  be  flogged." 

"That  comes  of  Oxford,"  said  Barnaby.  "And  then 
there  is  Sis.  Humphrey,  my  lad,  it  goes  to  my  heart  to 
think  of  that  poor  girl,  stripped  to  be  lashed  like  a  black  slave 
or  a  Bristol  drab. " 

"  Barnaby,  slie  must  never  run  that  dreadful  risk." 

"Then  she  must  remain  behind.  And  here  she  runs  that 
risk  every  day.  What  prevents  yon  drunken  sot — the  taste 
of  that  stick  still  sticks  in  my  gizzard — I  say,  what  prevents 
him  from  tying  her  up  to-day,  or  to-morrow,  or  every  day  ?  " 

"  Barnaby,  I  say  that  she  must  never  run  that  risk,  for  if 
we  are  caught — "'     I  stopped. 

"  Before  we  are  caught  you  would  say,  Humphrey.  We 
are  of  the  same  mind  there.  But  who  is  to  kill  her  ?  Not 
Robin,  for  he  loves  her  ;  not  you,  because  you  have  too 
great  a  kindness  for  her  ;  not  I,  because  I  am  her  brother. 
What  should  I  say  to  my  mother  when  I  meet  her  after  we 
are  dead,  and  she  asks  me  who  killed  Grace  ?  " 

"  Barnaby,  if  she  is  to  die,  let  us  all  die  together." 

"Ay,"  he  replied,  "though  I  have,  I  confess,  no  great 
stomach  for  dying,  yet,  since  we  have  got  her  with  us,  it 
must  be  done.  'Tis  easy  to  let  the  water  into  the  boat,  and 
so,  in  three  minutes,  with  no  suspicion  at  all,  and  my  mother 
never  to  know  anything  about  it,  she  would  have  said  her 
last  prayers,  and  we  should  be  all  sinking  together  with 
never  a  gasp  left." 


320 


FOR  FAITH  A\D  FREEDOM. 


I  took  him,  after  this  talk,  to  the  sick-house,  wnerc  Grace 
was  beginning-  her  second  night  of  nursing.  Barnaby 
sakited  his  sister  as  briefly  as  if  her  presence  were  the  thing 
he  most  expected. 

The  room  was  Ht  by  a  horn  lantern  containing  a  candle, 
which  gave  enough  light  to  see  Robin  on  the  bed  antHirace 
standing  beside  him.  Tlae  woman  called  Deb  was  sitting  on_ 
the  floor,  wrapped  in  her  rug. 

*•  Sis,"  said  Barnaby,  "  I  have  heard  from  Humphrey  how 
thou  wast  cozened  out  of  thy  money  and  enticed  on  board 
ship.  Well,  this  world  is  full  of  villains,  and  I  doul»t  whether 
I  shall  live  to  kill  them  all.  One  I  must  kill,  and  one  I  must 
cudgel.  Patience,  therefore,  and  no  more  upon  this  head. 
Sis,  dost  love  to  be  a  servant .?  " 

"Surely  not,  Barnaby."' 

"  Wouldst  like  to  get  thy  freedom  again  } '' 

"  I  know  not  the  meaning  of  thy  words,  brother.  Madam 
says  that  those  who  have  interest  at  home  may  procure  par- 
dons for  their  friends  in  the  plantations.  Also  that  those 
whose  friends  have  money  may  buy  their  freedom  from  ser- 
vitude. I  am  sure  that  Mr.  Boscorel  would  Avillingly  do  this 
for  Robin  and  for  Humphrey,  but  for  myself,  how  can  I  ask  ? 
How  can  I  ever  let  him  know  where  I  am  and  in  what  con- 
dition ?  " 

"  Ay,  ay.  But  I  meant  not  that  way.  Child,  wilt  thou 
trust  thyself  to  us  ? '' 

She  looked  at  Robin.      ''  I  cannot  leave  him,"  she  said. 

"  No,  no.  We  shall  wait  till  he  is  dead,  or,  perhaps,  bet- 
ter " — but  he  only  added  this  to  please  his  sister.  ' '  When 
he  is  better.  Sis,  thou  wilt  not  be  afraid  to  trust  thyself  with 
us  ?  " 

"  I  am  not  afraid  of  any  danger,  even  of  death,  with  you, 
if  that  is  the  danger  in  your  mind,  Barnaby." 

"Good!  Then  we  understand  each  other.  There  are 
other  dangers  for  a  young  and  handsome  woman,  and  may 
be  worse  dangers.      Hast  any  money  at  all,  by  chance?  ' 

"  Nay,  the  man  Penne  took  all  my  money. '" 

Barnaby,  for  five  or  six  minutes,  without  stopping,  spoke 
upon  this  topic  after  the  manner  of  a  sailor.  "  INIy  turn  will 
come,"  he  added.  "No  money,  child.'  'Tis  a  great  pity. 
Had  we  a  few  gold  pieces  now  !  Some  women  have  rings 
and  chains.      But,  of  course — " 

"Nay,  brother,  chains  I  never  had;  and  as  for  rings, 
there  were  but  two  that  ever  I  liad — one  from  Robin  the  day 
that  I  was  plighted  to  him,  and  one  from  the  man  that  made 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 


%t\ 


m©  many  him  and  put  it  on  in  church.  The  former  did  I 
break  and  throw  away  when  I  agreed  for  your  dear  hves, 
Barnaby.     Oh,  for  the  Hves  of  all !  " 

"  I  know,  I  know,"  said  Barnaby.  "  Patience,  patience. 
Oh,  I  shall  get  such  a  chance  some  day  !  " 

"  The  other  I  threw  away  when  I  tied  from  my  husband 
at  the  church  door." 

"  Ay,  ay,  If  we  only  had  a  little  money.  'Tis  a  pity 
that  we  should  fail  for  want  of  a  little  money." 

"  Why,"  said  Grace,  "  I  had  quite  forgotten.  I  have 
something  that  may  bring  money."  She  pulled  from  her 
neck  a  black  ribbon,  on  which  wa:.  a  little  leathern  bag 
"  'Tis  the  ring  the  duke  gave  me  at  Ilchestcr  long  ago.  I  have 
never  parted  with  it.  '  God  grant, '  he  said,  when  he  gave  it 
tome,  'that  it  may  bring  thee  luck.'  Will  the  ring  help, 
Barnaby .''  ' 

I  took  it  first  from  her  hand. 

"  Why,"  I  said,  "  it  is  a  sweet  and  costly  ring.  Jewels,  I 
know,  and  have  studied.  If  I  mistake  not,  these  emeralds 
must  be  worth  a  great  sum.  But  how  shall  we  dispose  of 
so  valuable  a  ring  in  this  place,  and  without  causing  suspi- 
picion } " 

"  Give  it  to  me."  Barnaby  took  it,  looked  at  it,  and  laid 
it,  bag  and  all,  in  his  pocket  "  There  are  at  the  port  mer- 
chants of  all  kinds,  who  will  buy  a  ship's  cargo  of  sugar  one 
minute,  and  the  next  will  sell  you  as  red  herrings.  They 
will  also  advajice  you  money  upon  a  ring.  As  for  suspicion, 
there  are  hundreds  of  convicts  and  servants  here,  'lis  but 
to  call  the  ring  the  property  of  such  an  one,  and  no  questions 
will  be  asked.  My  friend  John  Nuthall,  the  carver,  shall  do 
this  for  us.  And  now,  Sis,  I  think  that  our  business  is  as  good 
*s  done.  Have  no  fear,  we  shall  getaway.  First  get  Robin 
well,  and  then — "  Here  Barnaby  gazed  upon  her  face  with 
affection  and  with  pity.  "  But,  sister,  understand  rightly, 
'tis  no  child's  play  of  hide-and-go-seek.  'Tis  life  or  death — 
life  or  death.  If  we  fly  we  must  never  come  back  again, 
understand  that  well. " 

"  Since  we  are  in  the  Lord's  hands,  l)rothcr,  why  should 
we  fear  ?  Take  me  with  you  ;  let  me  die,  if  you  must  die  ; 
and  if  you  live  I  am  content  to  live  with  you,  so  that  my 
husband  never  finds  me  out. " 

21 


33«  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 


CHAPTER  XLIV. 

A    SCARE. 

There  is  between  the  condition  of  the  mind  and  that  of 
the  body  an  interdependence  which  cannot  but  be  recognized 
by  every  physician.  So  greatly  has  this  connection  affected 
some  of  the  modern  physicians,  as  to  cause  doubts  in  their 
minds  whether  there  be  any  life  at  all  hereafter,  or  if,  when 
the  pulse  ceases  to  beat,  the  whole  man  should  become  a 
dead  and  senseless  lump  of  clay.  In  this  they  confuse  the 
immortal  soul  with  the  perishable  instruments  of  brain  and 
body  through  which  in  life,  it  manifests  its  being,  and  be- 
trays its  true  nature,  M'hether  of  good  or  ill. 

Thus  the  condition  in  which  Robin  now  lay  clearly  corre- 
sponded, as  I  now  understand,  with  the  state  of  his  mind  in- 
duced by  the  news  that  Grace  to  save  his  life  had  been  be- 
trayed into  marrying  his  cousin.  For,  at  the  hearing  of  that 
dreadful  news  he  was  seized  with  such  a  transport  of  rage 
(not  against  that  poor  innocent  victim,  but  against  his  cous- 
in) as  threatened  to  throw  him  into  madness,  and  on  recover- 
ing from  this  access  he  presently  fell  into  a  kind  of  despair  in 
which  he  languished  during  the  whole  voyage.  So  also  in 
a  corresponding  manner  after  a  fever,  the  violence  of  which 
was  like  to  have  torn  him  to  pieces,  he  fell  into  a  lethargy  in 
which,  though  his  fever  left  him,  he  continued  to  wander  in 
his  mind  and  grew,  as  I  covild  not  fail  to  mark,  daily  weaker 
in  his  body,  refusing  to  eat,  though  Grace  brought  him  daily 
broth  of  chicken,  delicate  panadas  of  bread-and-butter,  fruit 
boiled  with  sugar,  and  other  things  fit  to  tempt  a  sick  man's 
appetite,  provided  by  the  goodness  of  madam.  This  lady 
was  in  religion  a  Romanist ;  by  birth  she  was  a  Spanish 
quadroon  ;  to  escape  the  slavery  to  which  the  color  of  her 
grandmother  doomed  her,  she  escaped  from  Cuba  and  found 
her  way  to  Jamaica,  where  she  met  with  our  master.  And 
whether  she  was  lawfully  married  unto  him  I  will  not,  after 
her  kindness  to  Grace  and  her  faithfulness  to  myself  as  re- 
gards Robin,  so  much  as  ask. 

Robin,  therefore,  though  the  fever  left  him,  did  not  mend. 
On  the  contrary,  as  I  have  said,  he  grew  daily  weaker,  so 


FOR  FAITH  AXD  FREEJDO.V. 


i^i 


that  I  marvelled  at  his  lasting  so  long,  and  looked  to  see  him 
die,  as  so  many  die,  in  the  early  morning,  when  there  is  a 
sharpness  or  eagerness  in  the  air,  and  the  body  is  exhausted 
by  long  sleep.      Yet  he  died  not. 

And  now  you  shall  hear  how,  through  the  Duke  of  Mon- 
mouth s  ring,  we  escaped  from  our  servitude.  "God  grant," 
said  the  duke,  "  that  it  bring  thee  good  luck."  This  was  a 
light  and  unconsidered  prayer,  forgotten  as  soon  as  uttered, 
meant  only  to  please  the  ear  of  a  child.  And  yet,  in  a  man- 
ner most  marvelous  to  consider,  it  proved  the  salvation  of  us 
all.  What  better  luck  could  that  ring  cause  than  that  we 
should  escape  from  the  land  of  Egypt — the  House  of  Bond- 
age? 

"I  have  disposed  of  the  ring,"  Barnaby  told  me  a  few  days 
later.  "That  is  to  say,  John  Xuthall  hath  secretly  pledged 
it  with  a  merchant  for  twenty  guineas.  He  said  that  the 
ring  belonged  to  a  convict,  but  many  of  them  have  brought 
such  precious  things  with  them  in  order  to  buy  their  freedom. 
He  owns  that  the  stones  are  fine,  and  very  wiUingly  gave  the 
money  on  their  security." 

"Then  nothing  remains,"  I  said,   "but  to  get  away." 

"John  Nuthall  has  bought  provisions  and  all  we  want, 
little  by  little,  so  as  to  excite  no  suspicion  ;  they  are  secretly 
and  safely  bestowed,  and  half  the  money  still  remains  in  his 
hands.      How  goes  Robin  .'' " 

"He  draws  daily  nearer  to  his  grave.  We  cannot  depart 
until  he  either,  mends  or  dies.  'Tis  another  disaster,  Bar- 
naby. " 

"Ay,  but  of  disaster  we  must  not  think.  Robin  will  die  ; 
yet  our  own  case  may  be  as  bad  if  it  comes  to  scuttling  the 
ship.  Cheer  up,  lad  !  many  men  die,  but  the  world  goes  on. 
Poor  Robin  !  Every  man  for  himself,  and  the  Lord  for  us 
all.  Sis  will  cry  ;  but  even  if  Robin  recovers,  he  cannot 
marry  her,  a  consideration  which  ought  to  comfort  her.  And 
for  him,  since  nothing  else  will  serve  him,  it  is  best  that  he 
should  die.  Better  make  an  end  at  once  than  go  all  his  life 
with  hanging  head  for  the  sake  of  a  woman.  As  if  there 
are  not  plenty  of  women  in  the  world  to  serve  his  turn." 

"I  know  not  what  ails  him  that  he  doth  not  get  better. 
The  air  is  too  hot  for  him  ;  he  hath  lost  his  appetite.  Bar- 
naby," I  cried,  moved  to  a  sudden  passion  of  pity  such  as 
would  often  seize  me  at  that  time,  "saw  one  ever  ruin  more 
complete  than  ours  .-*  Had  we  been  fighting  for  Spain  and 
the  accursed  Inquisition  we  could  not  have  been  more 
heavily  punished.    And  we  were  fighting  on  the  Lord's  side." 


334 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOAf. 


"  We  were — dad  was  with  us,  too.  And  see  how  he  waa 
served.  The  Lord,  it  seems,  doth  not  provide  his  servants 
with  arms,  or  with  ammunition,  or  with  commanders.  Other- 
wise, the  duke  this  day  would  be  in  St.  James's  Palace  wear- 
ing his  father's  crown,  and  you  would  be  a  court  physician 
with  a  great  wig  and  a  velvet  coat,  instead  of  a  Monmouth 
cap  and  a  canvas  shirt.  And  I  should  be  an  admiral.  But 
what  doth  it  profit  to  ask  why  and  wherefore  !  Let  us  first 
get  clear  of  the  wreck.  Well,  I  wish  we  were  to  take  Robin 
with  us.  'Twill  be  a  poor  business  going  back  to  Bradford 
Orcas  without  him. " 

We  waited,  therefore,  day  after  day,  for  Robin  either  to 
get  better  or  to  die,  and  still  he  lingered,  seemingly  in  a 
waste  or  decline,  but  such  as  I  had  never  before  seen,  and  I 
know  not  what  would  have  happened  to  him,  whether  he 
would  have  lived  or  died.  But  then  there  happened  a  thing 
which  caused  us  to  wait  no  longer.      It  was  this  : 

The  master,  having,  according  to  his  daily  custom,  gone 
the  round  of  his  estate,  that  is  to  say,  having  seen  his  ser- 
vants all  at  work  under  their  drivers — some  planting  with 
the  hoe,  some  weeding,  some  cutting  the  maize,  some  gath- 
ering yams,  potatoes,  cassava,  or  bonavist  for  provisions, 
some  attending  the  ingenio  or  the  still-house — did  unluckily 
take  into  his  head  to  visit  the  sick-house.  What  was  more 
unfortunate,  this  desire  came  upon  him  after  he  had  taken  a 
morning  dram,  and  that  of  the  stiffest ;  not,  indeed,  enough 
to  make  him  drunk,  but  enough  to  make  him  obstinate  and 
wilful.  When  I  saw  him  standing  at  the  open  door,  I  per- 
ceived by  the  glassiness  of  his  eyes  and  the  unsteadiness  of 
his  shoulders  that  he  had  already  began  the  day  s  debauch. 
He  was  now  in  the  most  dangerous  condition  of  mind. 
Later  in  the  day,  when  he  was  more  advanced  in  drink,  he 
might  be  violent,  but  he  would  be  much  less  dangerous,  be- 
cause he  would  afterwards  forget  what  he  had  said  or  done 
in  his  cups. 

"So,  Sir  Doctor,"  he  said,  "I  have  truly  a  profitable  pair 
of  servants — one  who  pretends  to  cure  everybody  and  so 
escapes  work,  and  your  cousin  who  pretends  to  be  sick,  and 
so  will  do  none.  A  mighty  bargain  I  made,  truly,  when  I 
bought  you  both. " 

"With  submission,  sir,"  I  said,  "I  have  within  the  last 
week  earned  for  your  honor  ten  guineas'  worth  of  fees.'' 

"Well,  that  is  as  it  may  be.  How  do  I  know  what  hath 
gone  into  your  own  pocket  ?  Where  is  this  malinger  fellow  ? 
Make  him  sit  up.     Sit  up,  I  say,  ye  skulking  dog — sit  up  1  * 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 


325 


"Sir,"  I  said,  still  speaking  with  the  greatest  humility, 
"  nobody  but  the  Lord  can  make  this  man  sit  up."  And, 
indeed,  Robin  did  not  comprehend  one  word  that  was 
said. 

"  I  gave  fifty  pounds  for  him  only  a  month  ago.  Am  I  to 
lose  all  that  money,  I  ask  ?  Fifty  pounds,  because  I  was 
told  that  he  was  a  gentleman,  and  would  be  ransomed  by 
his  family.  Hark  ye,  doctor,  you  must  either  cure  this  man 
for  me,  or  else,  by  the  Lord  !  you  shall  have  his  ransom 
added  to  your  own.  If  he  dies,  I  will  double  your  price, 
mark  that." 

I  said  nothing,  hoping  that  he  would  depart.  As  for 
Grace,  she  had  turned  her  back  upon  him  at  his  first  appear- 
ance (as  madam  had  ordered  her  to  do),  so  that  he  might 
not  notice  her. 

Unfortunately  he  did  not  depart,  but  came  into  the  room, 
looking  about  him.  Certainly  he  was  not  one  who  would 
suffer  his  servants  to  be  negligent  even  in  the  smallest 
things. 

"Here  is  fine  work,"  he  said.  "Sheets  of  the  best — 
a  pillow  ;  what  hath  a  servant  to  do  with  such  luxuries  }  " 

"  My  cousin  is  a  gentleman,"  I  told  him,  "and  accus- 
tomed to  lie  in  linen.  The  rug  which  is  enough  for  him 
in  health  must  have  a  sheet  to  it  as  well  now  that  he  is 
sick." 

"  Humph  !  And  whom  ha\'c  we  here  ?  Wlio  iwt  thc)u, 
madam,  I  wish  to  know  ?  " 

Grace  turned 

"I  an^  your  honor's  servant,"  she  said.  "1  am  cni- 
ployed  in  this  sick-house  when  I  am  not  in  the  sewing- 
room." 

"A  servant?  oh,  madam,  I  humbly  crave  your  pardon. 
I  took  you  for  some  fine  lady.  I  am  honored  by  having 
such  a  servant.  All  the  rest  of  my  women  servants  go  in 
plain  smock  and  petticoats.  But — "here  he  smiled — "to 
so  lovely  a  girl  as  Grace  Eykin — fair  Grace — sweet  Grace — ■ 
we  must  give  the  bravest  and  daintiest.  To  thee,  my  dear, 
nothing  can  be  denied.  Those  dainty  cheeks,  those  white 
hands,  were  never  made  to  adorn  a  common  coif.  Mistress 
Grace,  we  must  be  better  accpiaintcd.  This  is  no  fit  place 
for  you.  Not  the  sick-house,  but  the  best  room  in  my  house 
shall  be  at  thy  service." 

"Sir,  I  ask  for  nothing  but  to  sit  retired,  and  to  render 
such  service  as  is  in  my  power." 

"To  sit  retired?     Why,  that  cannot  be  longer  suffered. 


326  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREED03f. 

'Twould  be  a  sin  to  keep  hidden  any  longer  this  treasure, 
this  marvel,  I  say,  of  beauty  and  grace.  INIy  servant?  Nay, 
'tis  I,  'tis  the  whole  island,  who  are  thy  servants.  Thou  to 
render  service  ?  'Tis  for  me,  madam,  to  render  service  to 
thy  beauty."  He  took  off  his  hat  and  flourished  it,  making 
a  leg. 

"Then,  sir,"  said  Grace,  "suffer  me,  I  pray,  to  go  about 
my  business,  which  is  with  this  sick  man,  and  not  to  hear 
compliments." 

He  caught  her  hand  and  would  have  kissed  it,  but  she 
drew  it  back. 

"Nay,  coy  damsel,"  he  said,  "I  swear  I  will  not  go 
without  a  kiss  from  thy  lips.      Kiss  me,  my  dear." 

She  started  back  and  I  rushed  between  them.  At  that 
moment  madam  herself  appeared. 

"What  do  you  here.?  "'  she  cried,  catching  his  arm. 
"  What  has  this  girl  to  do  with  you.''  Come  away*  Come 
away  and  leave  her  in  peace." 

"Go  back  to  the  house,  woman  !  "  he  roared,  breaking 
from  her  and  flourishing  his  stick  so  that  I  thought  he  was 
actually  going  to  cudgel  her.  "Go  back,  or  it  will  be  the 
worse  for  you.  What !  am  I  master  here,  or  you  ?  Go 
back,  I  say  !  " 

Then  a  strange  thing  happened.  She  made  no  reply, 
but  she  turned  upon  him  eyes  so  full  of  authority  that  she 
looked  like  a  queen.  He  shifted  his  feet,  made  as  if  he 
would  speak,  and  finally  obeyed  and  went  out  of  the  place 
to  his  own  house  with  the  greatest  meekness,  soberness, 
and  quietness. 

Presently  madam  came  back. 

"I  blame  thee  not,  child,"  she  said.  "It  is  with  him  as 
I  have  told  thee.  When  he  begins  to  drink  the  devil  enters 
into  him.  Dost  think  he  came  here  to  see  the  sick  man  ? 
No,  but  for  thy  fair  eyes,  inflamed  with  love  as  well  as  with 
drink.  At  such  times  no  one  can  rule  him  but  myself,  and 
even  I  may  fail.  Keep  snug,  therefore.  Perhaps  he  may 
forget  thee  again.     But,  indeed,  I  know  not." 

She  sighed  and  left  u». 


f^OK  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  ja/ 


CHAPTER  XLV. 

BARNABY     THE     AVENGER. 

Thk  man  did  not  come  back.  During  the  whole  day  1 
remained  with  Grace  in  fear.     But  he  molested  us  not. 

When  the  sun  set  and  the  field-hands  returned,  1  was  in 
two  minds  whether  to  tell  Barnaby  what  had  happened  or 
not  But  when  I  saw  his  honest  face,  streaked  with  the 
dust  of  the  day's  work,  and  watched  him  eating  his  lump  of 
salt  beef  and  basin  of  yellow  porridge  with  as  much  satis- 
faction as  if  it  had  been  a  banquet  of  all  the  dainties,  I  could 
not  bear,  without  greater  cause,  to  disturb  his  mind. 

"To-night,"  he  told  me,  when  there  was  no  more  beef 
and  the  porridge  was  all  eaten,  "  there  is  a  great  feast  at  the 
Bridge.  I  would  we  had  some  of  their  sherries  and  Madeira. 
The  Governor  of  Nevis  landed  yesterday,  and  is  entertained 
to-day  by  our  governor.  All  the  militia  are  feasting,  offi- 
cers and  men  ;  nobody  will  be  on  the  lookout  anywhere  ; 
and  it  is  a  dark  night,  with  no  moon.  What  a  chance  for 
us,  could  we  make  our  escape  to-night  !  There  may  never 
again  happen  such  a  chance  for  us.      How  goes  Robin  ?  " 

And  so  after  a  little  more  talk  we  lay  down  in  our  ham- 
mocks, and  I,  for  one,  fell  instantly  asleep,  having  no  fear 
at  all  for  Grace  ;  first,  because  the  master  would  be  now  at 
the  Bridge  feasting,  and  too  drunk  for  anything  but  to 
sleep  ;  and  next,  because  she  had  with  her  the  woman  Deb, 
as  stout  and  lusty  as  any  man. 

The  master  was  not  at  the  Bridge  with  the  rest  of  the 
planters  and  gentlemen.  Perhaps  the  drink  which  he  took 
in  the  morning  caused  him  to  forget  the  great  banquet. 
However  that  may  be,  he  was,  most  unluckily  for  himself 
drinking  at  home  and  alone,  yet  dressed  in  his  best  coat  and 
wig,  and  with  his  sword,  all  of  which  he  had  put  on  for  the 
governor's  banquet. 

After  a  while  the  devil  entered  into  him,  finding  easy  ad- 
mission, S9  to  speak — all  doors  thrown  wide  open  and 
tven  a  welcome  in  that  debauched  and  ]irofligate  soul. 
About  eight  o'clock,  therefore,  i)r()mi)ted  by  the  Evil  One, 
the  master  rose  and  stcalthilv  crept  out  of  the  house. 


2 28  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

It  was  a  dark  night,  but  he  needed  no  light  to  guide  his 
footsteps.  He  crossed  the  court  and  made  straight  for  the 
sick-house. 

He  pushed  the  door  open  and  stood  for  a  httle  looking 
within.  By  the  light  of  the  horn  lantern  he  saw  the  girl 
whose  image  was  in  his  mind.  The  sight  might  have  caused 
him  to  return,  repentant  and  ashamed.  For  she  was  on 
her  knees,  praying  aloud  beside  the  bedside  of  the  sick 
man. 

As  he  stood  in  the  door  the  woman  named  Deb,  who  lay 
upon  the  floor  asleep,  woke  up  and  raised  her  head.  But 
he  saw  her  not.  Then  she  sat  up,  watching  him  with  sus- 
picion. But  his  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  figure  of  Grace. 
Then  she  sprang  to  her  feet,  for  now  she  knew  that  mischief 
was  meant,  and  she  stood  in  readiness,  prepared  with  her 
great  strong  arms  to  defend  her  mistress.  But  he  thought 
nobody  was  in  the  house  but  Grace  and  the  sick  man.  He 
saw  nothing  but  the  girl  at   the  bedside. 

I  say  that  I  was  sleeping.  I  was  awakened  at  the  sound 
of  a  shriek  ;  I  knew  the  voice  ;  I  sprang  from  the  hammock. 

"God  of  mercy!"  I  cried.  "It  is  Grace!  Barnaby, 
awake — awake,  I  say  !     It  is  the  cry  of  Grace  !  " 

Then  I  rushed  to  the  sick-house. 

There  I  saw  Grace  shrieking  and  crying  for  help.  And 
before  her  the  master  struggling  and  wrestling  with  the 
woman  Deb.  She  had  her  arms  round  his  neck,  and  made 
as  if  she  were  trying  to  throttle  him.  Nay,  I  think  that  she 
would  have  throttled  him,  so  strong  she  was  and  possessed 
of  such  a  spirit,  and  by  the  light  of  the  lantern  gleaming 
upon  the  blade  I  saw  that  his  sword  had  either  fallen  from 
his  hand  or  from  the  scabbard,  and  now  lay  upon  the  floor. 

"  Standback  !  "  cried  Barnaby,  pushing  me  aside.  "Leave 
^o  of  him,  woman.     Let  me  deal  with  him." 

The  thing  was  done  in  a  moment.  Merciful  heavens  ! 
To  think  that  thus  suddenly  should  the  soul  of  man  be 
called  to  its  account  !  I  had  seen  the  poor  /ellows  shot 
down  and  cut  to  pieces  on  Sedgemoor,  but  then  they  knew 
that  they  were  going  forth  to  fight  and  so  might  be  killed. 
There  was  time  before  the  battle  for  a  prayer  ;  but  this  man 
had  no  time,  and  he  was  more  than  half  drunk  as  well. 

He  lay  at  our  feet,  lifeless,  Barnaby  standing  over  him 
with  a  broken  sword  in  his  hand. 

For  a  while  no  one  spoke  or  moved.  But  the  woman 
called  Deb  gasped  and  panted,  and  even  laughed,  as  one 
who  is  well  pleased  because  slic  halh  had  her  revenge, 


FOR  FAITH  AXD  FREEDOM.  33^ 

The  madam  herself,  clad  in  a  long  white  night-dress  and 
with  bare  feet,  suddenly  pushed  us  aside  and  fell  upon  her 
knees  beside  the  wounded  man. 

She  lifted  his  head.  The  face  was  pale  and  the  eyes 
closed.      She  laid  it  gently  down  and  looked  round. 

"You  have  killed  him,"  she  said,  speaking  not  in  a  rage 
or  passion,  but  quietly.  "  You  have  killed  him.  To-morrow 
you  will  hang.      You  will  all  hang." 

We  said  nothing. 

"Doctor, "  she  turned  to  me,  "tell  me  if  he  is  dead  or 
living. " 

She  snatched  the  lantern  and  held  it,  while  I  made  such 
examination  as  was  possible.  I  opened  his  waistcoat  and 
laid  back  his  shirt.  The  sword  had  run  straight  through  him 
and  broken  off  short,  perhaps  by  contact  with  his  ribs.  The 
broken  point  remained  in  the  wound  and  the  flesh  had  closed 
around  it,  so  that,  save  for  a  drop  of  blood  or  two  oozing 
out,  there  was  no  flow. 

It  needs  not  great  knowledge  to  understand  that  when  a 

man  hath  six  inches  of  steel  in   his  body  which   cannot  be 

■pulled  out,  and  when  he  is  bleeding  inwardly,  he  must  die. 

Still,  as  physicians  use,  I  did  not  tell  her  so. 

"  Madam,"  I  said,  "he  is  not  dead.  He  is  living.  While 
there  is  life  there  is  hope." 

"  Oh  !  "  she  cried,  "why  did  he  buy  you  when  he  could 
have  had  the  common  sort?  You  will  hang — you  will  hang, 
every  one." 

"That  shall  we  presently  discover,"  said  Barnaby. 
"Humphrey,  we  have  now  no  choice  left ;  what  did  I  tell 
thee  about  the  chances  of  the  night.?  We  must  go  this  night 
As  for  this  villain,  let  him  bleed  to  death." 

"Go  }  "  said  madam.  "  Whither,  unhappy  men,  will  you 
go  }  There  is  no  place  in  the  island  where  you  can  hide, 
but  with  bloodhounds  they  will  have  you  out.  You  can  go 
nowhere  in  this  island  but  you  will  be  found  and  hanged, 
unless  you  are  shot  like  rats  in  a  hole." 

"Come,  Humphrey,  "said  Barnaby,  "we  will  carry  Robin. 
This  poor  woman  must  go  too  ;  she  will  else  be  hanged  for 
trying  to  throttle  him.  Well,  she  can  lend  a  hand  to  carry 
Robin.  Madam,  by  your  leave  we  will  not  hang,  nor  will 
be  shot.  In  the — in  the — the  cave — that  I  know  of  your 
bloodhounds  will  never  find  us." 

"  Madam,"  I  said,  "it  is  true  that  we  shall  attempt  to  es- 
cape. For  what  hath  happened  I  am  truly  sorry.  Yet  we 
may  not  suffer  such  a  thing  as  waa  this  night  attempted 


330  J-'OR  FAiril  AXD  FREEDOM. 

without  resistance.  Else  should  we  be  worse  than  the  ig^ 
norant  blacks.  The  master  will  perhaps  live  and  not  die. 
Listen,  and  take  heed  therefore." 

"  Doctor,"  she  said,  "do  not  leave  me.  Stay  with  me,  or 
he  will  die.  Doctor,  stay  with  me  and  I  will  save  your  life. 
I  will  swear  that  you  came  at  my  call.'  Stay  with  me  ;  I 
will  save  Grace  as  well.  I  will  save  you  both.  You  shall 
be  neither  flogged  nor  hanged.  I  swear  it ;  I  will^  say  that 
I  called  you  for  help  when  it  was  too  late.  Only  this  man 
and  this  woman  shall  hang.  Who  are  they.?  a  rogue 
and — " 

Barnaby  laughed  aloud. 

"  Doctor,"  she  said,  "  if  you  stay,  he  will  perhaps,  re- 
cover and  forgive  you  all — " 

Barnaby  laughed  again. 

"Madam,"  I  told  her,  "better  death  upon  the  gallows 
than  any  further  term  of  life  with  such  a  man." 

"  Oh  !  "  she  cried.      "  He  will  die  where  he  is  lying." 

"  That  may  be,  I  know  not."  I  gave  her  certain  directions, 
bidding  her,  above  all,  watch  the  man  and  cause  him  to  lie 
perfectly  quiet,  and  not  to  speak  a  word  even  in  a  whisper, 
and  to  give  him  a  few  drops  of  cordial  from  time  to  time. 

"  Come,"  said  Barnaby,  "  we  lose  time  which  is  precious. 
Madam,  if  your  husband  recover — and  for  my  part  I  care 
nothing  whether  he  recover  or  whether  he  die  ;  but  if  he 
should  recover,  tell  him  from  me,  Captain  Barnaby  Eykin, 
that  I  shall  very  likely  return  to  this  island,  and  that  I  shall 
then,  the  Lord  helping,  kill  him  in  fair  duello  to  wipe  out  the 
lash  of  the  cudgel  which  he  was  good  enough  once  to  lay 
about  my  head.  If  he  die  of  this  trifling  thrust  with  his  own 
sword,  he  must  lay  that  to  the  account  of  my  sister.  Enough, " 
said  Barnaby,  "  we  will  now  make  our  way  to  the  woods, 
and  the  cave. " 

This  said,  Barnaby  went  to  the  head  of  Robin's  bed  and 
ordered  Deb  to  take  the  foot,  and  so  between  them  they  carried 
him  forth  with  them,  while  Grace  followed,  and  I  went 
last. 

We  heard,  long  afterwards,  though  one  Mn  Anstiss,  the 
same  young  gentleman  who  loved  Grace  and  would  have 
married  her,  what  had  happened  when  we  were  gone.  An 
hour,  or  thereabouts,  afterwards,  madam  woke  up  one  of 
the  overseers,  telling  him  what  had  happened,  and  bidding 
him  be  ready  at  daybreak,  with  the  bloodhounds,  horses, 
and  loaded  guns,  to  follow  in  pursuit  and  bring  us  back, 
There  -would  be,  they  thought,  no  difficulty  at  all  in  catch- 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 


33« 


iwg"  us,  because  we  were  encumbered  by  a  sick  man  and  two 
women. 

There  was,  however,  more  difficulty  than  they  expected. 
For  the  footsteps  led  the  bloodhounds  to  the  seashore,  and 
here  the  trace  was  lost,  nor  could  it  ever  afterwards  be  re- 
covered. And  though  the  hue  and  cry  was  out  over  all  the 
island,  and  the  woods  and  the  ravines  and  caves,  where  run- 
away neg-roes  hide,  were  searched,  we  were  never  found. 
Therefore,  since  no  boat  at  all  was  missing  (the  Guineaman 
had  sailed  away),  it  was  certain  that  we  could  not  have  es- 
caped by  sea.  It  was  fortunate,  indeed,  that  Barnaby  drop- 
ped no  hint  about  the  sea,  otherwise  there  would  have  been 
despatched  some  of  the  boats  of  the  port  in  search  of  us,  and 
in  that  case  the  scuttling  of  our  craft  might  have  been  neces- 
sary. For,  had  we  been  caught,  we  should  certainly  have 
been  hanged  for  murder,  after  being  flogged  for  attempted 
escape.  For  the  master  died.  He  lay  speechless  until  the 
day  broke  ;  then  he  became  conscious,  and  presently  breath- 
ed his  last  in  great  anguish  of  body  and  terror  of  mind. 
What  hath  since  become  of  madam  and  of  that  miserable 
family  of  servants  and  slaves  I  know  not  Certain  it  is  that 
they  could  not  find  a  more  barbarous  or  a  more  savage 
master  in  place  of  him  whom  Barnaby  slew,  if  they  were 
to  search  the  whole  of  the  Spanish  Main  and  the  islands 
upon  it 


CHAPTER  XLVI. 

A    PERILOUS    VOYAGE. 

In  this  way,  unexpected  and  tragical,  arrived  our  chance 
of  escape.  We  walked  to  Carlisle  Bay  by  way  of  the  sea- 
shore, so  that  we  might  be  met  by  none,  and  in  order  that 
the  bloodhounds  (if  they  should  use  them)  in  the  morning 
might  be  thrown  off  the  track.  On  the  march  that  stout  and 
lusty  wench  who  carried  one  end  of  the  bed  neither  called  for 
a  halt  nor  complained  of  the  burden  she  carried  all  the  way. 
It  was  nigh  unto  midnight  when  we  arrived  at  the  creek  in 
which  the  boat  lay  sunk.  This  was  within  a  stone's  throw 
of  John  Nuthall's  cottage,  where  were  bestowed  the  mast 
sails,  oars,  and  gear,  with  such  provisions  as  he  had  gotten  to* 


332  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

gether  for  the  voyage.  The  man  was  sleeping  when  Barnaby 
called  him,  but  he  quickly  got  up,  and  in  less  than  an  hour 
we  had  the  boat  hauled  out  of  the  water,  the  provisions  hastily 
thrown  in,  the  mast  stepped,  our  sick  man  and  the  woman  plac- 
ed in  the  bows,  the  stern  and  middle  of  the  boat  being  encum- 
bered with  our  provisions  ;  we  had  pushed  down  the  muddy 
and  stinking  creek,  we  had  hoisted  sail,  and  we  were  stealing 
silently  out  of  Carlisle  Bay  under  a  light  breeze.  Three  or  four 
ships  were  lying  in  the  bay,  but  either  there  was  no  watch  kept 
aboard,  or  (which  is  more  probable)  it  was  no  one's  business 
to  hail  a  small  sail  boat  going  out,  probably  for  fishing  at  dawn. 
Besides,  the  night  was  so  dark  that  we  may  very  well  have 
escaped  notice.  However  that  might  be,  in  a  quarter  of  an 
hour  we  were  well  out  at  sea,  beyond  the  reach  of  the  guns 
of  Carlisle  Bay,  no  longer  visible  to  the  ships  in  port,  and 
without  any  fear  of  being  seen  until  daybreak.  The  wind, 
which  sometimes  dropped  altogether  in  the  night,  still  con- 
tinued favorable,  though  very  light. 

"My  lads,"  said  Barnaby,  presently,  drawing  a  long 
breath,  "I  verily  believe  that  we  have  given  them  the  slip 
this  time.  In  the  morning  they  may  go  forth,  if  they  please, 
with  their  bloodhounds  to  hunt  for  us.  Let  them  hunt. 
If  any  inquiry  is  made  for  us  at  the  Bridge,  no  boat  will  be 
missing,  and  so  no  suspicion  will  be  awakened.  They  \\\\\ 
then,  I  suppose,  search  for  us  among  the  caves  and  ravines 
of  which  1  have  heard,  where  there  are  hiding-places  in 
plenty,  but  no  water  to  drink,  so  that  the  poor  devils  who 
run  away  and  seek  a  refuge  there  are  speedily  forced  to 
come  out  for  water,  and  so  are  caught  or  shot  down.  Well, 
they  will  hunt  a  long  time  before  they  find  us.  This  boat 
makes  a  little  water,  but  I  think  not  much.  If  she  proves 
water-tight  and  the  breeze  holds,  by  daylight  we  should  be 
well  to  the  south  of  the  Island  :  courage,  therefore — all  will 
be  well  yet.     How  goes  Robin }  " 

He  was  lying  as  easily  as  we  could  manage  for  him,  one 
rug  over  him  and  another  under  him.  Grace  sat  on  one 
side  of  him,  and  the  woman  they  call  Deb  on  the  other. 
Then,  because  the  boat  sometimes  shipped  a  little  water  when 
she  dipped  in  the  waves,  Barnaby  rigged  a  tarpaulin  round 
the  bows  to  prevent  this,  and  (but  this  was  not  till  next  day) 
over  the  tarpaulin  he  made  out  of  a  rug  and  a  spare  spar  a 
low  tilt  which,  unless  the  weather  grew  bad,  should  shelter 
those  three  by  night  from  dew  and  spray,  and  by  day  from 
the  sun  overhead  and  the  glare  and  heat  of  tl:ie  water, 

"  Peb,"  he  said  softly,  "  art  afraid.'  " 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 


333 


"No,  sir;  not  while  my  mistress  is  here"  (meaning 
Grace). 

"  If  we  are  taken  we  shall  all  be  flogged  well-nigh  unto 
death,  and  very  likely  hanged  as  well." 

"I  am  not  afraid,  sir." 

"  We  may  spring  a  leak,"  said  Barnaby,  "  and  so  all  go 
to  the  bottom  and  be  devoured.     Art  not  afraid  to  die  ?  " 

"No,  sir;  not  if  I  hold  my  mistress  by  the  hand,  so  that 
she  may  take  me  whither  she  goes  herself." 

"Good,"  said  Barnaby.  "As  for  me,  I  shall  have  to  go 
alone.  Well,  there  will  be  a  goodly  company  of  us.  Go 
to  sleep,  my  girl.  In  the  morning  we  will  serve  around 
the  first  ration,  with,  perhaps,  if  all  be  well,  a  dram  of 
cordial." 

In  the  dim  light  of  the  stars  I  watched  all  night  the  three 
figures  in  the  bow.  Robin  lay  white  and  motionless  ;  Grace 
sat  covered  with  her  hood,  bending  over  him  ;  and  Deb, 
from  whose  head  her  coif  had  fallen,  lay  head  on  arm  sound 
asleep.  She  had  no  fear,  any  more  than  a  common  soldier 
has  when  he  goes  into  action,  because  he  trusts  his  captain. 
Thus  began  our  voyage,  in  an  open  boat,  twenty  feet 
long,  with  a  company  of  three  sound  men,  two  women, 
and  a  sick  man.  For  arms,  in  case  we  needed  them,  we 
had  none  at  all.  If  any  ship  crossed  our  track  and  should 
call  upon  us  to  surrender,  we  could  not  deny  that  we  were  es- 
caped convicts,  because  the  dress  of  all  but  one  proclaimed 
the  fact.  Who,  in  such  a  climate,  would  choose  to  wear 
a  coarse  shirt  and  canvas  breeches,  with  a  Monmouth  cap, 
except  it  was  a  servant  or  a  slave  who  had  no  choice,  but 
must  take  what  is  given  him  ? 

But  we  should  not  surrender,  come  what  might.  If  we 
could  neither  fight  nor  fly,  we  could  sink.  Said  Barnaby  in 
the  dead  of  the  night,  whispering  in  my  ear,  "Lad,  'tis 
agreed  between  us,  we  will  have  that  clear.  Sooner  than 
be  taken  we  will  scuttle  the  ship,  and  so  sink  altogethei . 
If  'tis  accounted  murder,  the  blame  shall  lie  between  us." 

A  little  before  daybreak  the  breeze  freshened  and  the  wave"? 
began  to  rise,  but  not  so  high  as  to  threaten  the  boal, 
which  proved  indeed  a  most  gallant  little  craft,  dancing 
over  the  waters  as  if  she  enjoyed  being  driven  by  the  breeze. 
Some  boats,  as  sailors  will  tell  you,  being  always  apt  t  ) 
compare  these  craft  with  living  creatures,  come  thus  froli-: 
and  sprightly  from  their  makers'  hands,  while  others,  bui!t 
of  the  same  material,  and  on  the  same  lines,  are,  on  the 
contrary,  and  always   remain,  heavy  and  lumpish,  just  as 


334 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FRLEDOM. 


some  children  are  lively  and  gay,  while  others,  bom  of  thd 
same  parents,  are  dull  and  morose. 

Then  the  sun  rose,  seeming  to  leap  out  of  the  water,  a 
must  glorious  ball  of  fire,  which  instantly  warmed  the  cool 
air,  and  began  to  burn  and  scorch  our  hands  and  faces. 
In  these  hot  latitudes  one  understands  what  the  ancients 
meant  when  they  spoke  of  the  dreadful  sun-god,  who  both 
gives  and  destroys  life,  and  is  so  beneficial  and  yet  so  ter- 
rible. We,  who  live  in  a  cold  country,  are  sometimes 
greatly  comforted  by  the  sun,  but  are  never  burned  ;  we 
feel  his  warmth,  but  understand  not  his  power. 

Then  Barnaby  began  to  gaze  curiously  all  round  the  horizon. 
We  had  no  glass  or  telescope,  but  his  eyes  were  to  him  as 
good  as  any  telescope  is  to  most  men. 

"  I  thank  the  Lord,"'  he  said,  drawing  breath.  (It  was 
rare  for  Barnaby  thus  openly  to  give  praise.)  "  There  is  no 
sail  in  sight.  To  be  sure  we  have  the  day  before  us.  But 
yet — "  here  he  began  to  talk  as  some  men  use  when  they 
desire  to  place  before  their  own  minds,  clearly,  the  position 
of  affairs.  ' '  Very  well,  then — Barbadoes  laying  thirty 
miles  or  more  northeast  by  north.  Vessels  bound  for  the 
island  from  Bristol,  commonly  sailing  round  the  north. 
Very  well,  then — we  are  out  of  their  track.  Yet — then  again 
— some  are  driven  south  by  stress  of-  weather.  Ay,  there 
is  our  danger.  Yet  again,  if  one  should  see  us,  would  she 
bear  down  upon  us  ?  I  greatly  doubt  it.  The  wind  will 
continue,  that  is  pretty  sure.  If  they  were  to  discover  that 
we  had  gone  by  boat,  would  they  sail  after  us  1  Why,  whom 
could  they  send  .?  And  whither  would  they  steer  }  And  what 
boat  have  they  that  can  sail  faster  than  this  little  craft  ?  Yet 
we  are  pretty  low  down  in  the  water.  Humphrey,  lad,"  he 
turned  upon  me  his  broad  and  sunburnt  face,  full  of  cheer- 
fulness, "we  are  not  within  many  hours  of  scuttling  yet. 
A  tight  boat,  a  fair  wind,  a  smooth  sea  ;  let  us  hope  for  the 
best,      How  goes  Robin  }  " 

There  was  no  change  in  Robin,  either  for  better  or  for 
worse. 

"Sis,"  said  Barnaby,  "art  sleeping  still,  Sis?  Wake  up 
and  let  us  eat,  drink,  and  be  jolly.  What  !  Grace,  I  say  ? 
Why,  we  have  escaped.  We  are  far  away  at  sea.  Let  us 
laugh  and  sing.  If  there  were  room  in  this  coi^kle  I  would 
dance  also." 

She  lifted  her  head  and  threw  back  her  hood.  Ah  !  what 
a  mournful  face  was  there. 


POR  FAITH  AXD  J-RhEDO.\L 


tl'i 


"Oh,  brother,"  she  said,  "canst  thou  laugh  and  sing? 
Hast  thou  forgotten  last  night  ?  " 

"  Why,  no,"  he  replied,  "  one  must  not  forget  last  night, 
because  it  was  the  night  of  our  escape.  All  else,  I  own,  I  can 
forget  Let  it  not  stick  in  thy  gizzard,  my  dear,  that  the 
man  frightened  thee.  Rejoice  rather  that  he  thus  afforded 
me  a  chance  of  giving  him  a  taste  of  his  own  cold  iron." 

''Nay,  brother,"  she  said,  shaking  her  head;  then  she 
looked  round  her.  "We  are  a  long  way  from  the  land," 
she  said.  "When  will  they  send  out  a  ship  to  bring  us 
')ack  }  " 

"Why,  d'ye  see.?"  Barnaby  replied.  "Give  us  twelve 
hours  more,  and  they  may  send  out  all  their  fleet,  if  they 
have  one,  and  sail  the  wide  world  round  for  us,  and  yet  not 
capture  us.  And  now  let  us  overhaul  the  provisions,  and 
examine  the  ship's  stores."  Grace  pulled  her  hood  down 
again  and  said  no  more.  The  woman  they  called  Deb  was 
now  wide  awake,  and  staring  about  her  with  the  greatest 
satisfaction. 

"Come  John  Nuthall,"  Barnaby  went  on.  "We  are 
hungry  and  thirsty.  Where  is  the  list  I  made  for  thee  .? 
Thou  art  our  purser,  our  supercargo,  our  cook,  and  our  steward. 
Thou  art  also  bo's'n  and  carpenter  and  half  the  crew.  Where 
is  my  list,  I  say  ?  Give  it  me  and  we  will  examine  our 
stores.  Look  up,  Sis  ;  never  cry  over  what  is  done  and 
over.  What !  A  villain  hath  received  a  lesson  and  thou 
hangest  thy  head  therefore.  Look  up,  I  say.  There  is  now 
hope  for  all ;  thou  shalt  merrily  dance  at  my  wedding 
yet. " 

Then  he  read  the  list,  and  examined  each  parcel  or  box 
with  great  care. 

"  A  hundred  and  a  half  of  bread  ;  a  soft  cheese  ;  plantains  ; 
a  keg  of  water — nine  gallons  ;  six  bottles  of  Canary — not  one 
broken  ;  a  compass  ;  a  half-hourglass  ;  a  spare  rug — 'tis  over 
Robin's  legs  ;  flint  and  steel  ;  a  bit  of  tarpaulin  ;  a  hatchet 
and  hammer  ;  a  saw  ;  some  nails ;  a  spar  or  two  ;  a  coil  of 
rope  and  yarn  ;  a  lump  of  tobacco — we  can  chew  it,  though 
I  would  rather  put  it  into  a  pipe.  Candles — Faugh  !  they 
are  run  together  in  a  lump  ;  they  will  serve  to  calk  some- 
thing presently." 

We  had,  in  fact,  no  light  during  our  voyage,  but  the  tallow 
proved  useful  when  (I  think  it  was  the  next  day)  the  boat 
started  a  leak. 

This  was  all  our  store.  'Twas  not  much  for  six  people, 
but  Barnaby  hoped  that  the  voyage  would  be  short.     If  he 


'};^^  FOR  J-AJT/I  AXD  FKEEDO.U. 

should  be  disappointed,   who  would  not  put  up  with  short 
rations  for  a  day  or  two  for  the  sake  of  freedom  ? 

"  And  now,"  he  said,  when  everything-  was  stowed  away 
according  to  his  mind,  "  we  will  have  breakfast.  Our  pro- 
visions are  not  great  things,  but  after  the  accursed  loblollie. 
a  bit  of  bread  and  cheese  will  be  a  feast." 

A  feast  indeed  it  was,  and  our  captain  gratified  us  by 
opening  a  flask  of  Canary,  which  raised  all  our  hearts.  Strange 
;hat  men  should  be  able  to  recover  their  spirits,  which  should 
oe  independent  of  the  creature  comforts,  by  a  dram  of  wine. 

As  for  Barnaby,  I  thought  he  would  have  kissed  the  bottle. 

"  It  is  now  three  nionths  and  more,"  he  said,  "that  we 
have  had  nothing  save  a  sup  of  kill-devil  fresh  from  the  still 
and  now  we  are  mercifully  permitted  to  taste  again  a  glass 
of  Canary.  ' ' '  Tis  too  much, "  he  sighed,  drinking  his  ration. 
"  Well,  we  have  birt  a  few  bottles,  and  the  voyage  may  be 
longer  than  we  hope.  Therefore,  we  must  go  upon  short 
allowance.  But  fear  not,  sis;  there  shall  always  be  enough 
for  Robin,  poor  lad." 

He  then  proceeded  to  tell  us  what  he  intended,  and  whither 
he  would  steer. 

"  We  have  no  chart,"  he  said.  "What  then  .?  I  can  draw 
one  as  good  as  they  are  made  to  steer  by  in  these  seas. " 
He  could  not  draw  one  because  he  had  no  paper  or  pencil, 
but  he  carved  one  with  the  point  of  his  knife  on  the  seat,  and 
marked  out  our  course  upon  it  day  by  day.  "See,"  he  said, 
' '  here  is  Barbadoes.  Our  course  all  night  hath  been  sou'west. 
She  now  makes  five  knots  an  hour.  It  is  now  eight,  I  take 
it,  and  we  must  therefore  be  about  forty  miles  from  Barba- 
does. To-morrow  morning  we  should  make  the  Grenadilloes, 
which  are  a  hundred  and  fifty  miles  from  Carlisle  Bay.  Hark 
ye  !  there  may  be  a  Bristol  vessel  sailing  from  Great  Granada 
to  Barbadoes,  or  the  other  way.  That  would  be  the  devil. 
But  such  ships  are  rare,  and  there  is  no  trade  between  the 
two  islands.  Well  ;  we  shall  give  Granada  as  wide  a  berth 
as  may  be."  Here  he  considered  a  little.  "Therefore, 
'twill  be  our  wiser  plan  to  bear  more  to  the  south.  Once 
south  of  Granada,  I  take  it,  there  will  be  no  more  danger. 
Off  the  main  of  South  America  the  sea  is  covered  with  islands. 
They  are  No  INIan's  Land.  Inhabitants  have  they  none 
Navigators  for  the  most  part  know  them  not.  English,  French, 
and  Spanish  ships  come  never  to  these  islands.  My  purpose, 
therefore,  is  to  put  in  at  Great  Margaritos  or  Tortuga,  for 
rest  and  fresh  water,  and  so  presently  make  the  Dutch  island 
of  Cura9oa. " 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  -i^^-j 

"  And  after  that  ?  " 

"Then,  my  lad,  we  shall  take  ship  to  some  country  where 
a  sailor  may  get  a  berth  and  a  physician  may  find  patients. 
It  must  be  to  Holland  first ;  but  never  fear,  we  shall  get 
back  to  England  some  time,  and  perhaps,  fight  another 
battle,  with  a  different  tale  to  tell  afterwards.'' 

As  the  day  advanced  the  coast  of  Barbadoes  continually 
receded,  until,  before  sunset,  the  island  lay  like  a  purple 
cloud  low  down  in  the  horizon.  The  northeast  breeze  blew 
steadily,  but  the  sun  caused  a  most  dreadful  heat  in  the  air, 
and  our  eyes  smarted  from  the  glare  of  the  water  and  the 
spray  that  was  blown  upon  us.  It  was  at  this  time  that 
Barnaby  constructed  the  tilt  of  which  I  have  spoken.  The 
sea  lay  spread  out  round  us  in  a  broad  circle  of  which  we 
were  the  centre,  and  the  cloudless  blue  sky  lay  over  us  like 
unto  a  roof  laid  there  for  us  alone.  It  is  only  in  a  ship  one 
doth  feel  thus  alone  in  the  centre  of  creation — even  as  if 
there  were  nothing  but  the  sea  around,  the  sky  above,  and 
our  boat  in  the  centre.  Thus  must  the  patriarch,  Noah,  have 
felt  when  his  ark  floated  upon  the  vast  face  of  the  water, 
and  even  the  tops  of  the  high  hills  were  hidden  and  covered 
over.  All  day  Barnaby  scanned  the  horizon  anxiously,  but 
there  came  into  sight  no  sail  or  ship  whatever.  To  us,  who 
sometimes  see  the  vessels  lying  in  a  crowded  port  and  hear 
how  they  bring  argosies  from  every  land,  it  seems  as  if  every 
part  of  the  ocean  must  be  covered  with  sails,  driving  before 
the  wind  from  whatever  quarter  it  may  blow.  But  he  who 
considers  the  mappa  mundi\x\\\  presently  discover  that  there 
are  vast  expanses  of  sea  where  never  a  sail  is  seen,  unless 
it  be  the  fugitive  sail  of  the  pirate  or  the  bark  canoe  of  the 
native.  We  were  now  nearing  such  a  lonely  sea  or  part  of 
the  ocean.  Barnaby  knew,  what  these  planters  did  not,  \\ow 
to  steer  across  the  unknown  water  to  a  port  of  safety  beyond. 

At  midday  our  captain  served  out  another  drink  of  \\-atcr, 
and  to  Robin  I  gave  a  sop  of  bread  in  Canary,  which  he 
seemed  to  suck  up  and  to  swallow  with  readiness. 

In  such  a  voyage,  wdiere  there  is  nothing  to  do  but  to  keep 
the  ship  on  her  course  and  to  watch  the  horizon  for  a  strange 
sail,  one  speedily  falls  into  silence  and  sits  manyhours  with- 
out speech  ;  sometimes  falling  asleep,  lulled  by  the  ripple 
of  the  water  as  the  boat  flies  through  it. 

I  have  said  nothing  about  the  man  John  Nuthall.  He  was 
a  plain,  honest-looking  man,  and  we  found  him,  throughout 
all  this  business,  faithful,  brave,  and  patient,  obedient  to 
Barnaby,  and  of  an  even  temper,   and  contented  with  his 

«a 


338  FOR  FAITH  AXD  FREEDOM. 

share.  That  he  had  formerly  been  a  thief  in  his  native 
country  cannot  be  denied,  but  I  hope  that  we  shall  not  deny 
to  any  man  the  right  of  repentance.  Barnaby  divided  the 
crew — namely,  himself,  John  Nuthall,  and  me — into  three 
watches,  of  eight  hours  each,  of  which  each  man  kept  two 
at  a  stretch.  Thus,  beginning  the  day  at  noon,  which  was 
the  only  time  we  knew  for  certain,  Barnaby  would  himself 
— but  this  was  after  the  first  two  days — lie  down  and  sleep 
till  sunset  or  a  little  later.  Then  John  Nuthall  lay  down  an  I 
took  his  turn  of  sleep  till  Barnaby  thought  it  was  two  o'clock 
in  the  morning,  when  he  woke  him  and  I  took  his  place. 
But  for  the  first  day  or  two  Barnaby  slept  not  at  all,  and  the 
whole  of  the  voyage  he  slept  as  a  good  watch-dog  sleeps — 
namely,  with  one  eye  open. 

At  sunset  he  gave  out  another  pannikin  of  cold  water  to 
each  of  us,  a  ration  of  bread  and  cheese,  and  a  dram  of  wine. 
Then  he  commanded  John  Nuthall  to  lie  down  and  sleep, 
while  I  took  the  tiller,  and  he  himself  held  the  ropes.  Then 
the  night  fell  once  more  upon  us. 

Presently,  while  we  sat  there  in  silence,  Grace  rose  up 
from  her  seat  and  came  aft  and  sat  down  beside  me. 

"Humphrey,"  she  whispered,  "  think  you  that  he  is  truly 
dead  ?  "     She  was  speaking  not  of  Robin,  but  of  the  master. 

"  I  know  not,  my  dear." 

"I  can  think  of  nothing  but  of  that  man's  sudden  end, 
and  of  what  may  happen  to  us.  Say  something  to  comfort 
me,  Humphrey.  You  always  had  some  good  word  to  say 
— like  manna  for  refreshment.  My  soul  is  low  in  the  dust. 
I  cannot  even  pray." 

"Why,  my  dear,  what  could  I  say .''  'Tis  true  that  the 
man  was  struck  down,  and  that  suddenly.     And  yet — " 

"  To  think  that  my  brother — that  Barnaby — should  have 
killed  him." 

' '  Why, "  said  Barnaby,  ' '  if  some  one  had  to  kill  him,  why 
not  I  as  well  as  another  1     What  odds  who  killed  him  }  " 

"Oh,"  she  said,  "that  a  man  should  be  called  away  at 
such  a  moment,  when  his  brain  was  reeling  with  wine  and 
wicked  thoughts." 

"  He  was  not  dead,"  I  told  her,  though  I  knew  very  well 
what  would  be  the  end,  "  when  we  came  away.  Many  a 
man  recovers  who  hath  had  a  sword  thrust  through  the  body. 
He  may  now  be  on  the  mend — who  can  tell .''  "  yet  I  knew, 
I  say,  very  well  how  it  must  have  ended.  "Consider,  my 
dear,  he  tempted  the  wrath  of  God,  if  any  man  ever  did.  If 
he  is  destroyed,  on  his   own  head  be  it,  not  im   ours.     If 


tOR  FAITH  AND  l-REEDOM.  339 

he  recover,  he  will  have  had  a  lesson  which  will  serve  him 
for  the  rest  of  his  life.  If  he  doth  not  recover,  he  may  have 
time  left  him  for  something  of  repentance  and  of  prayer. 
Why,  Grace,  if  we  get  safely  to  our  port  we  ought  to  con- 
sider the  punishment  of  this  sinner,  which  was  in  self- 
defence,  as  one  may  truly  say,  the  very  means  granted  by 
Providence  for  our  own  escape.  How  else  should  we  have 
got  away  ?  How  else  should  we  have  resolved  to  venture 
all.  even  to  carrying  Robin  with  us  .''  "  All  this,  I  repeat,  I 
said  to  encourage  her,  because,  if  I  know  aught  of  wounds, 
a  man  bleeding  inwardly  of  a  sword-thrust  through  his  vitals 
would  have  short  time  for  the  collecting  of  his  thoughts  or 
the  repentance  of  his  sins,  being  as  truly  cut  off  in  the  midst 
of  them  as  if  he  had  been  struck  down  by  a  thunderbolt.  A 
man  may  groan  and  writhe  under  the  dreadful  torture  of  such 
a  wound,  but  there  is  little  room  for  meditation  or  for 
repentance. 

Then  I  asked  her  if  she  were  in  fear  as  to  the  event  of  the 
voyage. 

"  1  fear  nothing,"  she  told  me,  "but  to  be  captured  and 
taken  back  to  the  place  whence  we  came,  there  to  be  put  in 
])rison  and  flogged.  That  is  my  only  fear.  Humphrey,  we 
have  suffered  so  much  that  this  last  shame  would  be  too 
great  for  me  to  bear.  Oh,  to  be  tied  up  before  all  the  men 
and  flogged  like  the  black  women.  'Twould  kill  me, 
Humphrey." 

"Grace,"  I  said,  very  earnestly,  "art  thou,  indeed,  brave 
enough  to  endure  death  itself  rather  than  this  last  barbarity  .-•  " 

"Oh,  death,  death!"  she  cried,  clasping  her  hands, 
"  what  is  death  to  me,  who  have  lost  everything  1 " 

"Ay,  but  consider,  my  dear.  To  die  at  sea — it  means  to 
sink  down  under  the  cold  water,  out  of  the  light  of  day  ;  to 
be  choked  for  want  of  air  ;  perhaps  to  be  devoured  quick  by 
sharks  ;  to  lie  at  the  bottom  of  the  water,  the  sea-weed  grow- 
ing over  your  bones  ;  to  be  rolled  about  by  the  troubled 
waves — " 

"  Humphrey,  these  are  old  wives'  tales.  Why,  if  it  had 
been  lawful,  I  would  have  killed  myself  long  ago.  But  I 
must  not  lose  heaven  as  well  as  earth.  A  brief  pang  it  is  to 
die,  and  then  to  be  happy  forever.  What  do  I  care  whether 
the  sea-weed  covers  my  bones  or  the  cold  clay .''  Oh, 
Humphrey,  Humphrey  !  why  should  I  care  any  longer  to 
Hve  ?  " 

"My  dear,"  I  said,  "if  we  escape  in  safety  there  may 
yet  be  happiness   in  store.     No  man  knoweth  the  future." 


^40  ^O/^  FAJ-J'Jf  .LVD  IREEDd.\f. 

She  shook  her  head.  "  Happiness,"'  I  told  her,  "  doth  not 
commonly  come  to  man  in  the  way  which  he  most  desires 
and  prays  ;  for  if  he  doth  obtain  the  thing  for  which  he 
hath  so  ardently  prayed,  he  presently  finds  that  the  thing- 
bringeth  not  the  joy  he  so  much  expected.  Or  it  comes  too 
late,  as  is  the  case  often  with  honors  and  wealth,  when  one 
foot  is  already  in  the  grave.  I  mean,  my  dear,  that  we 
must  not  despair,  because  the  thing  which  most  we  desired 
is  taken  from  us.  Perhaps  we  ought  not  to  desire  anything 
at  all  except  what  the  Lord  shall  provide.  But  that  is  a 
hard  saying,  and  if  men  desired  nothing,  it  is  certain  that 
they  would  no  longer  work."  I  talked  thus  at  length  to 
divert  her  mind  from  her  troubles.  "To  thee,  poor  child," 
I  said,  "have  been  given  afflictions  many  and  great — the 
loss  of  godly  parents,  a  husband  whom  thou  must  avoid, 
and  the  deprivation  of  earthly  love.  Yet,  since  thou  art  so 
brave,  Grace,  I  will  tell  thee.  I  thought  not  to  tell  thee 
anything  of  this — " 

"What,  Humphrey,  what.?" 

"Briefly,  Grace,  thou  shalt  not  be  taken  alive." 

"  How,  unless  you  kill  me.?" 

"We  are  agreed,  my  dear,  Barnaby  and  I,  that  if  we  can- 
not escape  any  boats  which  may  pursue  us,  the  boat  shall 
be  sunk,  and  so  we  shall  drown  together.  Indeed,  Grace, 
I  confess  that  I  am  n.ot  myself  so  much  in  love  with  life  as 
to  return  to  that  captivity  and  intolerable  oppression  from 
which  we  have  gotten  away.  Therefore,  be  assured,  we 
will  all  drown  rather  than  go  back," 

"Oh  !  "  she  sighed,  heavily,  "now  shall  I  fear  nothing. 
I  have  not  lost  everything  since  I  have  thee  still — and 
Barnaby.  Alas  !  my  head  has  been  so  full  of  what  madam 
said — that  we  should  be  certainly  caught,  and  all  of  us  flog- 
ged. To  be  flogged!  Who  would  not  rather  die?"  She 
shivered  and  trembled.  "To  be  flogged!  Humphrey,  1 
could  not  bear  the  shame."  She  trembled  and  shivered  at 
the  very  thought. 

"  Fear  not,  my  dear,"  I  said,  "there  are  those  on  the 
boat  who  love  thee  too  well  to  suffer  that  extreme  of  bar- 
barity. Put  that  fear  out  of  thy  mind.  Think  only  that 
we  may  have  to  die,  but  that  we  shall  not  be  taken.  To 
die,  indeed,  is  very  likely  our  fate,  for  we  have  but  a  quar- 
ter of  an  inch  of  frail  wood  between  us  and  the  seas.  If  a 
storm  should  arise,  we  fill  with  water  and  go  down  ;  if  the 
wind  should  drop  we   should  be  becalmed,  and  so   perish 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 


341 


miserably   of    hunger    and   thirst;    if    Barnaby   steer   not 
aright — " 

"  Humphrey,"  said  Barnaby,  "  fill  not  her  innocent  head 
with  rubbish.  'Tis  not  the  time  of  tornadoes,  and  there  will 
be  no  storm  ;  the  wind  at  this  season  never  drops,  therefore 
we  shall  not  lie  becalmed ;  and  as  for  my  steering  aright, 
why,  with  a  compass —  Am  I  a  lubber  ?  " 

"Brother,"  she  said,  "  if  I  am  not  to  be  flogged  the  rest 
concerns  me  little.  Let  us  say  no  more  about  it.  I  am 
now  easy  in  my  mind.  Robin  sleeps,  Humphrey.  He 
hath  slept  since  the  sun  went  down,  and  this  afternoon  he 
looked  as  if  he  knew  me.  Also,  he  took  the  bread  sopped 
in  Canary  eagerly,  as  if  he  relished  it." 

"These  seas,"  said  Barnaby,  "are  full  of  sharks,  I  tell 
you." 

I  knew  not  what  he  meant,  because  we  were  speaking  of 
Robin. 

"  Sharks  have  got  their  share  of  sense  as  well  as  humans," 
he  went  on. 

Still  I  understood  him  not. 

"When  a  man  on  board  a  ship  is  going  to  die  the  sharks 
find  it  out,  and  they  follow  that  ship  until  he  does  die  and 
is  flung  overboard.  Then  they  devour  his  body  and  go 
away,  unless  there  is  more  to  follow.  I  have  looked  for 
sharks,  and  there  are  none  following  the  boat,  wherefore, 
though  I  am  not  a  doctor,  I  am  sure  that  Robin  will  not 
die. " 

"  I  know  not  at  all,"  I  said,  "  how  that  may  be.  There 
are  many  things  believed  by  sailors  which  are  superstitions, 
fond  beliefs  nourished  by  the  continual  presence  of  perils. 
On  the  other  hand,  the  senses  of  man  are  notoriously  as 
far  below  those  of  creatures  as  their  intellects  are  abox'c 
them,  yet  a  skilful  man  may  read  the  premonition  of  death 
in  a  sick  man's  face.  Therefore,  I  know  not  but  a  shark 
may  have  a  sense  like  unto  the  eye  of  a  hawk,  or  the  scent 
of  a  hound,  with  which  to  sniff  the  approach  of  death  afar 
off.  Let  us  comfort  ourselves,  Grace,  with  Barnaby's  as- 
surance. ''' 

"Tis  a  well-proved  and  tried  thing,"  said  Barnaby  ;  "  and 
sailors,  let  me  tell  thee,  master  doctor,  have  no  superstitions 
or  idle  beliefs." 

"Well,  that  maybe.  As  to  Robin's  disease,  I  can  pro- 
nounce nothing  upon  it.  Nay,  had  I  the  whole  library  o/ 
Padua  to  consult  I  could  learn  nothing  that  would  help  me. 
First,  the  mind  falls  into  a  languisliing  and  spiritless  condi- 


342 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOAt. 


tion.  That  causeth  the  body  to  lie  open  to  attacks  of  any 
disease  which  may  be  threatening.  Then,  the  body,  being 
ill  at  ease,  works  upon  the  mind,  and  causes  it  to  wander 
beyond  control.  So  that  the  soul,  which  is  bound  up  with 
body  and  mind,  cannot  show  herself  or  manifest  her  will. 
It  is  the  will  which  shows  the  presence  of  the  soul — the  will 
M'hich  governs  body  and  mind  alone.  But,  it  I  know  aught 
of  disease,  if  a  change  comes  upon  Robin,  it  will  either 
swiftly  cure  or  swiftly  kill." 

"  Humphrey,"  she  whispered,  "if  he  recover,  kow  shall 
I  meet  his  face.''  How  shall  I  reply  when  he  asks  me  con- 
cerning my  faith .'  " 

"j\Iy  dear,    he  knows  all.     Twas  that   knowledge,  the' 
pity  of  it,  and  the  madness  of  it,  believe  me,  which  threw 
him  into  so  low  a  condition." 

"  I  have  looked  daily  for  reproaches  in  thy  kind  eyes, 
Humphrey.  I  have  found  none,  truly.  But,  from  Robin. 
Oh  !  I  dare  not  think  of  meeting  those  eyes  of  his." 

"Reproach  thee  will  he  never,  Grace.  Sorrow  and  love, 
I  doubt  not,  will  lie  in  his  eyes  all  his  life.  What  thou  hast 
done  was  for  him  and  for  thy  father  and  thy  brother  and  for 
all  of  us.  But  oh,  the  pity  and  the  villainy  1  Fear  not  to 
meet  the  poor  lad's  eyes,  Grace." 

"  I  long  to  see  the  light  of  reason  in  those  dear  eyes^ 
and  yet  I  fear.  Humphrey,  I  am  married,  but  against 
my  will.  I  am  a  wife,  and  yet  no  wife.  I  am  resolved 
that,  come  what  may,  I  will  never,  never  go  to  my  hus- 
band. And  I  love  my  Robin  still.  Oh  !  "  she  sobbed,  "I 
love  my  Robin  still." 

"If  we  die,"  I  told  her,  "  you  shall  go  down  with  your 
arm  round  his  neck,  and  so  you  shall  die  together." 

Then  we  sat  silent  awhile. 

"My  dear,"  I  said,  "  lie  down  and  take  some  sleep." 

"  I  cannot  sleep,  Humphrey,  for  the  peace  of  mind  which 
hath  fallen  upon  me.  If  Robin  come  to  his  senses  again  I 
shall  not  fear  him.  And  the  night,  it  is  so  peaceful — so  cool 
and  so  peaceful."  (The  wind  had  dropped  till  there  was 
barely  enough  to  fill  the  sail,  and  only  enough  way  on  the 
boat  to  make  a  soft  murmur  of  the  water  along  her  sides. ) 
"The  sea  is  so  smooth ;  the  sky  is  so  bright,  and  so  full  of 
stars.  Can  there  be  anywhere  a  peace  like  this  ?  Alas  !  if 
we  could  sail  still  upon  a  silent  and  a  peaceful  ocean.  But 
we  must  land  somewhere.  There  will  be  men  ;  and  where 
there  are  men  there  is  wickedness,  with  drink  and  wrath  and 
evil  passions,  such  as  we  \\ix\c  left  behind  us.     Plumphrey, 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 


343 


oh,  my  brother  Humphrey,  it  would  be  sweet  if  the  boat 
would  sink  beneath  us  now,  and  so,  with  Robin's  hand  in 
mine,  we  could  all  go  together  to  the  happy  land  where 
there  is  neither  marrying  nor  giving  in  marriage." 

From  beneath  'the  tilt  there  came  a  voice — 1  verily  believe 
it  was  the  answer  sent  straight  from  heaven  to  comfort  this 
poor,  faithful  soul.  "Grace" — it  was  the  voice  of  Robin, 
in  his  right  mind  at  last.  "Grace,"  he  said,  "we  will  con- 
tinue to  love  each  other,  yet  without  sin." 

"Oh,  Robin,  Robin."  She  moved  quickly  to  his  side  and 
fell  upon  her  knees.      ' '  Robin,  thou  wilt  recover. " 

"Stay,"  I  interposed.  "Robin  will  first  have  a  cup  of 
(Cordial. " 

"  I  have  been  sleeping,"  he  said.  "I  know  not  what 
hath  happened.  We  are  in  a  boat,  it  seems,  and  on  the 
open  sea.  Unless  I  am  still  dreaming,  we  are  slaves  to  a 
planter  in  Barbadoes.  And  this  is  Grace,  who  was  in  Eng- 
land— and  I  know  not  what  it  means." 

"  You  have  been  ill,  Robin,"  I  told  him.  "You  have 
been  nigh  unto  death.  Many  things  have  happened  of 
which  we  will  speak,  but  not  now.  Grace  is  at  your  side 
and  Barnaby  is  navigating  the  boat.  Drink  this  cup  of  wine 
— so.  Sleep  now,  and  in  the  morning,  if  it  please  Heaven, 
you  shall  be  so  strong  that  you  shall  hear  everything.  Ask 
no  more  questions,  but  sleep.   Give  him  your  hand,  Grace." 

She  obeyed  me,  sitting  at  his  side  and  taking  his  hand  in 
hers,  and  so  continued  for  the  rest  of  the  night,  Robin  sleep- 
ing peacefully. 

In  a  word,  he  was  restored.  The  fresh  sea-breeze  brought 
him  back  to  life  and  reason  ;  and  though  he  was  still  weak, 
he  was  now  as  sound  in  his  mind  as  any  man  could  desire 
to  be.  And  in  the  morning  we  told  him  all  that  had  been 
done,  whereat  he  marvelled. 

Grace  might  love  him  still.  That  was  most  true  ;  yet 
between  them  stood  the  man.  Why,  there  was  another 
man  in  the  boat  who  also  loved  a  girl  he  could  never  wed. 
His  passion,  I  swear,  was  full  of  constancy,  tenderness, 
and  patience,     ^^'ould  Robin  be  as  patient.'' 

When  the  day  broke  again  we  were  still  sailing  over  a 
lovely  sea,  with  never  a  sail  in  sight  and  never  a  sign  of 
land. 

But  now  Robin  was  sitting  up,  his  face  pale  and  his  hands 
thin  ;  but  the  light  of  reason  was  in  his  eyes,  and  on  his 
lips  Buch  a  smile  of  tenderness  as  we  were  wont  to  see  there 
in  the  days  of  old. 


344 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 


"Said  I  not,"  cried  Barnaby,  "that  he  would  recover? 
Trust  the  sharks  for  common-sense.  And  again  an  open 
sea,  with  never  a  sail  in  sight.     Praise  the  Lord  therefore. " 

But  Grace,  when  the  sun  rose  above  the  wares,  threw 
back  her  hood  and  burst  forth  into  singing  : 

"  O  Lord,  how  glorious  is  thy  grace  I 
And  wondrous  large  thy  love  I 
At  such  a  dreadful  tune  and  place 
To  such  as  faithful  prove." 

The  tears  came  into  my  eyes  only  to  see  the  change  that 
had  fallen  upon  her  gracious,  smiling  countenance  ;  it  was 
not,  truly,  the  sweet  and  happy  face  that  we  remembered 
before  her  troubles  fell  upon  her,  but  that  face  graver  with 
the  knowledge  of  evil  and  of  pain.  And  now  it  was  like 
unto  such  a  face  as  one  may  see  in  many  an  altar-piece  in 
Italy,  glorilied  with  gratitude  and  love. 

Then  the  woman  called  Deb  fell  to  weeping  and  blubber- 
ing for  very  joy  that  her  mistress  looked  happy  again. 
'Twas  a  faithful,  loving  creature. 

"  Humphrey,"  said  Grace,  "forgive  me  that  I  murmured. 
Things  that  are  done  cannot  be  undone.  Robin  is  restored 
to  us.  With  three  such  brothers,  who  should  not  be  con- 
tent to  live  ?  I  hope,  now,  that  we  shall  get  safely  to  our 
port ;  but  if  we  die,  we  shall  die  contented  in  each  other's 
arms.  Going  through  the  vale  of  misery,"  she  added, 
softly,  "we  will  use  it  as  a  well." 


CHAPTER  XLVII. 

«rE  SAIL  FOR  THE  BAHAMAS. 

"I  TAKE  it,"  said  Barnaby,  on  the  third  morning— the 
weather  continuing  fine  and  the  sea  clear  of  ships — "that 
we  are  now  clear  out  of  the  track  of  any  British  vessels. 
We  may  fall  into  the  hands  of  the  Spaniard,  but  he  is  mild 
and  merciful  of  late,  compared  with  his  temper  a  hundred 
years  ago.  'Tis  true  we  have  given  him  many  lessons  m 
humanity.  We  should  no^\',  before  nightfall,  make  the 
islands  of  Testigos  ;  but  I  think  they  are  only  rocks  and  sandy 


lOK  FAITH  AXU  FREEDOM. 


M5 


flats,  such  as  they  call  Keys,  where  we  need  not  land,  see- 
ing- that  we  should  get  nothing  by  so  doing,  except  to  go 
out  of  the  way,  and  so  make  the  rations  shorter.  Robin" — 
'twas  at  breakfast,  when  he  served  out  a  dram  of  wine  to 
every  one — -"I  drink  to  thy  better  health,  lad.  Thou  hast 
cheated  the  devil —  Nay,  Sis,  look  not  so  angry ;  I  meant, 
thou  wilt  not  go  to  heaven — this  bout.  Up  heart,  then,  and 
get  strong.  We  will  find  thee  another  sweetheart  shall  make 
thee  lift  up  thy  head  again.  What  !  is  there  but  one  woman 
in  the  world.?  " 

"I  was  saying,  then,"  he  went  on,  "that  we  shall  pres- 
ently make  the  islands  of  Testigos.  There  followeth  there- 
after, to  one  who  steereth  west,  a  swarm  of  little  islands. 
'Twas  here  that  the  pirates  used  to  lie  in  the  good  old  days, 
snug  and  retired,  with  their  girls  and  their  drink.  Ay,  and 
plenty  of  both.  A  happy  time  they  had  !  "  Barnaby  wagged 
his  head  and  sighed.  "South  of  this  archipelago,  which  I 
will  some  day  visit  in  order  to  search  for  treasure,  there 
lieth  the  great  and  mountainous  island  of  Margaritos.  This 
great  island  we  shall  do  well  to  keep  upon  our  south,  and 
so  bear  away  to  the  desert  island  of  Tortuga,  where  we 
shall  find  wafer  for  certain,  and  that,  I  have  been  told,  the 
best  spring-water  that  flows ;  turtles  we  may  also  find,  and 
fish  we  may  catch ;  and  when  we  have  recovered  our 
strength  with  a  few  days'  rest  ashore  we  will  once  more  put 
to  sea,  and  make  for  the  island  of  Cura(^oa  and  the  protec- 
tion of  the  Dutchmen." 

It  needs  not  to  tell  much  more  about  the  voyage,  in  which 
we  were  favored  by  Heaven  with  everything  that  we  could 
desire — steady  breeze  from  the  best  quarter,  a  sea  never  too 
rough,  provisions  in  sufficiency,  the  absence  of  any  ships, 
and,  above  all,  the  recovery  of  Robin. 

I  say,  then,  that  we  sighted,  and  presently  passed,  the 
group  of  islets  called  the  Testigos  ;  that  we  coasted  along  the 
great  island  of  Margaritos,  where  we  landed  not,  because 
Barnaby  feared  that  certain  smoke  which  we  saw  might  be- 
token the  presence  of  the  Spaniard,  whom,  in  spite  of  his  new 
character  for  mildness,  he  was  anxious  to  avoid.  'Tis  strange 
thus  to  sail  along  the  shore  of  a  great  island  whereon  are  no 
inhabitants,  or,  if  any,  a  few  sailors  put  in  for  water,  for 
turtle,  and  for  cocoanuts  ;  to  see  afar  off  the  forests  climbing 
round  the  mountain-sides,  the  waterfalls  leaping  over  the 
precipices,  and  to  think  of  the  happy  life  one  might  lead  in 
such  a  place,  far  from  men  and  their  ways.  I  confess,  since 
my  mistress  will  nevcrsce  this  page,  that  my  thoughts  for  a 


34ti  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

whole  day,  while  we  sailed  along  the  shores  of  Margaritos, 
turned  upon  those  pirates  of  whom  Barnaby  spoke.  They 
lived  here  at  ease  and  in  gi'eat  happiness.  'Tis  of  such  a  life 
that  a  man  sometimes  dreams;  but  if  he  were  suffered  so  to 
lie  in  sloth,  farewell  heaven,  farewell  future  hopes,  farewell 
our  old  talk  of  lifting  the  soul  above  the  flesh!  Let  us  hence- 
forth live  the  lives  of  those  who  are  content,  since  they  can 
have  no  more,  with  a  few  years  of  love  and  wine  and  revelry ! 
It  is  in  climates  like  that  of  the  West  Indies  that  such  a 
temptation  seizes  on  men  the  most  strongly,  for  here  every- 
thing is  made  for  man's  enjoyment.  Here  is  no  cold,  no 
frost,  no  snow  or  ice;  here  eternal  summer  reigns  and  the 
world  seems  made  for  the  senses  and  for  nothing  else.  Of 
these  confessions  enough.  'Twas  impossible  that  in  such  a 
luxurious  dream  the  image  of  Grace  could  have  any  part. 

We  landed,  therefore,  on  the  desert  island  of  Tortuga, 
where  we  remained  for  several  days,  hauling  up  our  boat  and 
covering  her  with  branches  to  keep  off  the  sun.  Here  we 
lived  luxuriously  upon  turtle,  fresh  fish,  the  remains  of  our 
bread,  and  what  was  left  of  our  Canary,  setting  up  huts  in 
which  we  could  sleep,  and  finding  water  of  the  freshest  and 
brightest  I  ever  saw.  Here  Robin  mended  apaqe,  and  began 
to  walk  about  with  no  more  help  from  his  nurses. 

We  were  minded,  as  I  have  said,  to  sail  as  far  as  the  island 
of  Curacoa,  but  an  accident  prevented  this. 

One  day,  when  we  had  been  ashore  for  ten  days  or  there- 
abouts, we  were  terrified  by  the  sight  of  a  small  vessel  rigged 
in  the  fashion  of  a  ketch — that  is,  with  a  small  mizzen — beat- 
ing about  outside  the  bay,  which  is  the  only  port  of  Tortuga. 

"She  will  put  in  here,"  said  Barnaby;  "that  is  most  cer- 
tain. Now,  from  the  cut  of  her,  she  is  of  New  England 
build,  and  from  the  handling  of  her  she  is  undermanned,  and 
I  think  that  we  have  nothing  to  fear  from  her,  unless  she  is 
bound  for  Barbadoes,  or  for  Granada  or  Jamaica." 

Presently  the  vessel  came  to  anchor,  and  a  small  boat  was 
lowered,  into  which  three  men  descended.  They  were  un- 
armed. 

"She  is  certainly  from  New  England,"  said  Barnaby 
"Well,  they  are  not  from  Barbadoes  in  quest  of  us,  other- 
wise they  would  not  send  ashore  three  unarmed  men  to  cap- 
ture four  desperate  men.  That  is  certain.  And  as  we  can- 
not hide  our  boat,  though  we  might  hide  ourselves,  I  will 
e'en  go  forth  and  parley  with  these  strangers." 

This  he  did,  we  watching  from  a  safe  place.     The  con.- 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 


347 


rersation  was  long  and  earnest,  and  apparently  friendly. 
Presently  Barnaby  returned  to  us. 

"There  offers,"  he  said,  "  a  chance  which  is  perhaps  bet- 
ter than  to  make  for  Cura^oa,  where,  after  all,  we  might  get 
scurvy  treatment  These  men,  in  a  word,  are  privateers  ; 
or,  since  we  are  at  war  with  none,  they  are  pirates.  They 
fitted  out  a  brigantine,  or  bilander,  I  know  not  which,  and 
designed  to  sail  round  Cape  Horn,  to  attack  the  Spaniard  on 
the  South  Seas.  On  the  way  they  took  a  prize,  which  you 
now  see  in  the  bay.  Ten  men  were  sent  aboard  to  navigate 
her  as  a  tender  to  their  ship.  But  they  fell  into  bad  weather 
off  Brazil,  and  their  ship  went  down  with  all  hands.  Now 
they  are  bound  for  Providence,  only  seven  hands  left,  and 
they  will  take  us  aboard  and  carry  us  to  that  island  for  our 
services.  Truly,  I  think  we  should  go.  They  have  provi- 
sions in  plenty,  with  Madeira  wine,  and  Providence  is  too 
far  for  the  arm  of  King  James  to  reach.  What  say  ye  all  .'' 
Grace,  what  sayest  thou  1  " 

"Truly,  brother,  I  say  nothing." 

"Then  we  will  agree,  aixl  go  with  them." 

We  went  on  board,  taking  with  us  a  good  supply  of  turtle, 
clear  water,  and  cocoanuts,  being  all  that  the  isle  afforded. 
Honest  fellows  we  found  our  pirates  to  be.  They  belonged 
to  the  island  of  Providence,  in  the  Bahamas,  which  have  lonj^ 
been  the  rendezvous  of  English  privateers.  Ten  years  before 
this  the  Spaniards  plucked  up  courage  to  attack  and  destroy 
the  settlement,  when  those  who  escaped  destruction  found 
shelter  in  some  of  the  adjacent  islands  or  on  the  mainland  ot 
Virginia.  Now,  some  of  them  have  come  back  again,  and 
this  settlement,  or  colony,  is  re-established. 

Thither,  therefore,  we  sailed.  It  seemed  as  if  we  were 
become  a  mere  shuttlecock  of  fortune,  beaten  and  driven 
hither  and  thither  upon  the  face  of  the  earth. 


CHAPTER  XLVni. 

THE      ISLAND      OF      PROVIDENCB. 

It  was  some  time  in  the  month  of  March,  Anno  Domini 
1686,  that  we  landed  in  Providence.  The  settlement,  from 
which  the  Spaniards  had  now  notliing  to  fear,  then  consisted 


348  J^R  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

(it  is  now,  I  leaiji,  much  larger)  of  no  more  than  one 
hundred  and  fifty  people  in  all,  the  men  being  all  sailors,  and 
ready  to  carry  on  again  the  old  trade  of  privateer  or  pirate 
as  you  please  to  call  it,  when  they  should  be  strong  enough 
to  buy  or  hire  a  ship  and  to  equip  her. 

We  stayed  on  the  island  for  two  years  and  a  quarter,  or 
thereabouts.  It  is  one  of  an  archipelago,  for  the  most  part. 
I  believe,  desert.  The  settlement  was,  as  I  have  said,  bui 
a  small  one,  living  in  scattered  houses.  There  were  plenty 
of  these  to  spare  (which  had  belonged  to  the  former  settle 
ment),  if  only  one  took  the  trouble  to  clear  away  the  creep- 
ing plants  and  cut  down  the  trees  which  had  grown  up  round 
them  since  the  Spaniards  came  and  destroyed  the  colony. 
Such  a  house,  built  of  wood,  with  a  shingle  roof,  we  found 
convenient  for  us,  and  after  we  had  cleared  the  ground  round 
about  it,  and  repaired  it,  we  lived  in  it.  Some  of  the  people 
helped  us  to  a  porker  or  two  and  some  chickens.  They  also 
gave  us  some  salt  beef  and  maize  to  start  with.  That  we 
had  little  money  (only  what  was  left  over  from  the  sale  of 
Grace's  ring)  made  no  difference  to  us  here,  because  no  one 
had  any  at  all,  and  at  this  time  there  was  neither  buying  nor 
selling  on  the  island  ;  a  happy  condition  of  things  which 
will  not,  I  take  it,  last  long.  So  great  is  the  fertility  of  the 
ground  here,  and  such  is  the  abundance  which  prevails,  that 
we  very  shortly  found  ourselves  provided  with  all  that  we 
wanted  to  make  life  pleasant.  Work  there  was  for  us,  but 
easy  and  pleasant  work,  such  as  weeding  our  patches  of 
vegetables  and  fruit  in  the  early  mornings,  or  going  to  fish, 
or  planting  maize,  or  attending  to  our  pigs,  poultry,  and 
turkeys  ;  and  for  the  rest  of  the  time  sitting  in  the  shade  con- 
versing. It  is  none  too  hot  in  this  place,  though  one  would 
not,  in  the  summer,  walk  abroad  at  noon  ;  nor  is  it  ever  too 
cold.  All  the  fruits  which  flourish  under  the  tropics  grow 
here,  with  those  also  which  belong  to  the  temperate  zone. 
Here  are  splendid  forests,  where  you  can  cut  the  mahogany- 
tree  and  build  your  house,  if  you  please,  of  that  lovely  wood. 
Here  we  ourselves  grew,  for  our  use,  maize,  tobacco,  coffee, 
cocoa,  plantains,  pines,  potatoes,  and  many  other  fruits  and 
vegetables. 

Bamaby  soon  grew  tired  ot  this  quiet  life,  and  went  ou 
board  a  vessel  bound  for  New  England,  promising  that  we 
should  hear  from  him.  After  two  years  we  did  receive  a 
letter  from  him,  as  you  shall  'mniediately  learn.  When  he 
was  gone  we  carried  on  a  fiuicl  and  peaceful  life.  Books, 
paper,  and  pen  there  were  none  upon  the  island.     Nor  were 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  549 

• 
(here  any  clothes,  so  that  the  raggedness  of  our  attire  (we 
were  dressed  in  the  sailors'  clothes  our  friends  the  privateers 
gave  us)  became  incredible.  I  made  some  kind  of  guitar 
on  which  we  played,  and  in  the  evening  we  would  have 
very  good  playing  and  singing  together  of  such  pieces  and 
songs  as  we  could  remember.  I  read  verses,  too,  foramuse- 
ment,  and  Grace  learned  them.  We  found  our  brother- 
settlers  a  rough  but  honest  folk  ;  to  them  we  taught  many 
arts  :  how  to  procure  sea-salt,  how  to  make  wine  from 
pineapples,  how  to  cure  the  tobacco-leaf — things  which 
greatly  added  to  their  comfort ;  and  seeing  that  there  was 
no  church  on  the  island,  we  every  Sabbath  had  a  meeting 
for  prayer  and  exhortation. 

Seemg,  then,  that  we  had  all  that  man  could  desire,  with 
perfect  freedom  from  anxiety,  our  liberty,  a  delightful  climate, 
and  plenty  to  eat  and  drink — ay,  and  of  the  very  best — and 
that  at  home  there  was  nothing  for  us  but  prison  again,  and 
to  be  sent  back  to  the  place  whence  we  had  escaped,  we 
ought,  every  one  will  acknowledge,  to  have  felt  the  greatest 
contentment  and  gratitude  for  this  sure  and  quiet  refuge. 
We  did  not.  The  only  contented  members  of  our  house- 
hold were  John  Nuthall  and  the  woman  Deb,  who  cheerfully 
cultivated  the  garden  and  fed  the  poultry  and  pigs  (for  we 
had  now  everything  around  us  that  is  wanting  to  make  life 
pleasant).  Yet  we  were  not  contented.  I  could  read  the 
signs  of  impatience  in  the  face  whose  changes  I  had  studied 
for  so  long.  Other  women  would  have  shown  their  discon- 
tent in  ill-temper  and  a  shrewish  tongue.  Grace  showed 
hers  in  silence,  sitting  apart,  and  communing  with  herself. 
I  dare  say  I  also  showed  my  own  discontent ;  for  I  confess 
that  I  now  began  to  long  vehemently  for  books.  Consider, 
it  was  more  than  two  years  since  I  had  seen  a  book.  There 
were  no  books  at  all  on  the  island  of  Providence ;  not  one 
book  except  a  Bible  or  two,  and  perhaps  a  Book  of  Common 
Prayer.  I  longed,  therefore,  for  the  smell  of  leather  bind- 
ings, the  sight  of  books  on  shelves,  and  the  holy  company 
of  the  wise  and  the  ingenious.  No  one,  again,  could  look 
upon  Robin  without  perceiving  that  he  was  afflicted  with  a 
constant  yearning  for  that  which  he  could  not  have.  What 
that  was  I  understood  very  well,  although  he  never  opened 
his  mouth  unto  me. 

Now  I  confess  that  at  this  time  I  was  grievously  tormented 
with  the  thought  that  Grace's  marriage,  having  been  no  true 
marriage,  because,  first,  she  was  betrayed  and  deceived, 
and,  next,  she  had  left  her  husband  at  the  very  church  porch, 


350  fOR  FAIIH  AND  FREEDOM. 

there  was  no  reason  in  the  world  why  she  should  not  dis- 
regard that  ceremony  altogether,  and  contract  a  marriage 
after  her  own  heart.  I  turned  this  over  in  my  mind  a  long 
while,  and,  indeed,  I  am  still  of  the  opinion  that  there  woirid 
have  been  nothing  sinful  in  such  an  act.  But  the  law  of 
the  country  would  not  so  regard  it.  That  is  quite  true. 
If,  therefore,  I  had  advised  these  unhappy  lovers  in  such  a 
sense  they  would  have  been  compelled  to  live  for  the  rest 
of  their  lives  on  this  island,  and  their  offspring  would  have 
been  illegitimate.  So  that,  though  the  letter  of  the  law 
caused  a  most  cruel  injustice — sununiim  Jus,  sumnium 
ne/as — it  was  better  that  it  should  be  obeyed.  In  the  end  it 
was  a  most  happy  circumstance  that  it  was  so  obeyed. 

I  have  presently  to  relate  the  means  by  which  this  injus- 
tice was  removed.  As  for  my  own  share  in  it,  I  shall 
neither  exaggerate  nor  shall  I  extenuate  it.  I  shall  not  de- 
fend it.  I  shall  simply  set  it  down,  and  leave  judgment  to  a 
higher  court  than  the  opinion  of  those  who  read  these  pages. 
I  must,  however,  acknowledge  that,  partly  on  Barbadoes 
and  partly  on  Providence,  I  learned  from  the  negresses, 
who  possess  many  secrets,  and  have  a  wonderful  knowl- 
edge of  plants  and  their  powers,  the  simple  remedies  with 
which  they  treat  fevers,  agues,  rheumatisms,  and  other 
common  disorders.  I  say  simple,  because  they  will,  with 
a  single  cup  of  liquor,  boiled  with  certain  leaves,  or  with  a 
pinch  of  some  potent  powder  gotten  from  a  plant,  effect  a 
speedier  cure  than  our  longest  prescriptions,  even  though 
they  contain  more  than  fifty  different  ingredients.  Had  I 
possessed  this  knowledge,  for  example,  while  we  lay  in 
Exeter  jail,  not  one  prisoner  (except  the  old  and  feeble) 
should  have  died  of  the  fever.  This  said,  you  will  under- 
stand presently  what  it  was  I  did. 

It  was,  then,  about  the  month  of  March,  ni  the  year  1688, 
;hat  a  ship,  laden  with  wine,  and  bound  from  New  York  to 
Jamaica,  put  in  at  the  port  of  Providence.  Her  captain 
carried  a  letter  for  me,  and  this  was  the  first  news  of  the 
world  that  came  to  us  since  our  flight. 

The  letter  was  from  Barnaby.  It  was  short,  because  Bar- 
naby  had  never  practised  the  art  of  letter-writing,  but  it  was 
l^ertinent.  First  he  told  us  that  he  had  made  the  acquaint- 
(uice,  at  Boston  (I  mean  the  little  town  Boston,  of  New  Eng- 
land), of  his  cousins,  whom  he  found  to  be  substantial 
merchants  (so  that  here  at  least  the  man  George  Penne  lied 
not)  and  zealous  upholders  of  the  independent  way  of  think- 
ing; that  these  cousins  had  given  him  a  hearty  welcome 


iVk  FAITH  Ai\D  FREEDOM.  35  I 

for  the  sake  of  his  father  ;  that  he  had  learned  from  them, 
first,  that  the  Monmouth  business  was  long  since  concluded, 
and  so  great  was  the  public  indignation  against  the  cruelties 
of«the  Bloody  Assize  that  no  one  would  be  again  molested 
on  that  account,  not  even  those  who  had  been  sent  abroad, 
should  they  venture  to  return.  He  also  said,  but  this  we 
understood  not,  that  it  was  thought  things  would,  before 
long,  improve. 

"And  now,"  he  continued,  "  my  cousins,  tinding  that  I 
am  well  skilled,  and  have  already  navigated  a  ship  with 
credit,  have  made  me  captain  of  their  own  vessel,  ihe  Pilgrim, 
which  sails  every  year  to  Bristol  and  back  again.  She  will 
be  despatched  in  the  month  of  August  or  September.  Come, 
therefore,  by  the  first  ship  which  will  set  you  ashore  either 
at  New  York  or  at  Boston,  and  I  will  give  you  all  a  passage 
home.  Afterwards,  if  you  find  not  a  welcome  there,  you 
may  come  back  with  me.  Here  a  physician  may  find 
practice,  Robin  may  find  a  farm,  and  sister  will  be  safe. 
From  B.   E. " 

At  this  proposal  we  pricked  up  our  ears,  as  you  may  very 
well  believe.  Finally,  we  resolved  to  agree  to  it,  promising 
each  other  to  protect  Grace  from  her  husband  and  to  go  back 
to  Boston  with  Barnaby  if  we  found  no  reason  to  stay  in 
England.  But  the  woman  called  Deb,  though  she  wept  at 
leaving  her  mistress,  would  not  go  back  to  the  place  where 
her  past  wickedness  might  be  remembered,  and  as  John 
Nuthall  was  also  unwilling,  for  the  same  reason,  to  return, 
and  as  this  honest  couple  had  now  a  kindness  for  each  other, 
I  advised  them  to  marry,  and  remain  where  they  were. 
There  was  on  the  island  no  minister  of  religion,  nor  any 
magistrate,  or  form  of  government  whatever  (yet  all  were 
honest),  therefore  I  ventured  to  hear  their  vows  of  fidelity, 
and  prayed  with  them  while  I  joined  tlieir  hands — a  form  of 
marriage,  to  my  mind,  as  binding  and  as  sacred  as  any 
wanting  the  assistance  of  a  priest.  So  we  handed  over  to 
them  all  our  property  (which  was  already  as  much  theirs  as 
ours),  and  left  them  in  that  sunny  and  delightful  place.  If  the 
man  was  a  repentant  thief,  the  woman  was  a  repentant  Mag- 
dalen, and  so  they  were  well  matched.  I  hope  and  believe 
that,  being  well  resolved  for  the  future,  they  will  lead  a 
godly  and  virtuous  life,  and  will  be  blessed  with  children 
who  will  never  learn  the  reason  why  their  parents  left  their 
native  country. 

There  is  little  trade  at  Providence,  but  many  vessels  touch 
at  the  port,  because  it  lies  between  the  English  possessions 


352  ^'OR  FAITH  AXD  FREEDOAt. 

\\\  America  and  those  in  the  West  Indies.  They  put  in  for 
water,  for  fruit,  and  sometimes,  if  they  are  short-handed,  for 
men,  most  of  them  in  the  place  being  sailors.  Therefore  we 
had  not  to  wait  long-  before  a  vessel  put  in  bound  from 
Jamaica  to  New  York.  We  bargained  with  the  captain  for  a 
passage,  agreeing  that  he  should  find  us  provisions  and 
wine,  and  that  we  would  pay  him  (by  means  of  Barneby) 
on  our  reaching  Boston  (which  is  but  a  short  distance  from 
Xew  York).  Strange  to  say,  though  we  had  been  discon- 
tented with  our  lot,  when  we  sailed  away  Grace  fell  to  weep- 
ing. We  had  murmured,  and  our  murmuring  was  heard. 
We  shall  now  live  out  what  is  left  to  us  in  England,  and  we 
shall  die  and  be  buried  among  our  own  folk.  Yet  there  are 
times  when  I  remember  the  sweet  and  tranquil  life  we  led  in 
the  island  of  Providence,  its  soft  and  sunny  air,  the  cool  sea- 
breeze,  the  shade  of  its  orange-groves,  and  the  fruits  which 
grew  in  such  abundance  to  our  hands. 


CHAPTER  XLIX. 

HOME. 

In  one  thing  alone  the  villain  Penne  spoke  the  truth.  The 
Eykin  family  of  Boston  (I  say  again  of  New  England)  was 
one  of  the  most  considerable  in  the  place,  great  sticklers  for 
freedom  and  for  religion  (but,  indeed,  it  is  a  most  God-fear- 
ing town,  and  severe  towards  transgressors).  They  received 
us  with  so  much  kindness  that  nothing  could  surpass  it ;  we 
were  treated  as  Christian  martyrs  at  the  least,  and  towards 
Grac-?,  of  whose  cruel  lot  they  had  heard  from  Barnaby, 
chey  howed  (but  that  no  one  could  help)  an  affection  quite 
ancommon.  They  generously  furnished  us  all  with  apparel 
becoming  our  station,  and  with  money  for  our  daily  occa- 
sions ;  they  approved  of  our  going  with  Barnaby,  but  in  the 
event  of  onr  finding  no  welcome,  or  means  of  livelihood  at 
home,  and  if  Grace  should  be  molested  by  her  husband, 
they  engaged  us  to  return  to  New  England.  Here,  they 
said,  Robin  might  become  a  farmer,  if  he  had  no  inclination 
for  trade  ;  they  would  joyfully  receive  Grace  to  live  with 
them  ;  and  I  myself  would  certainly  find  practice  as  a  phy- 
sician,  while  Barnaby  should  continue  to  command  their 


FOR  FAITH-  AND  FREEDOM. 


353 


;hip.  When  I  considered  the  many  conveniences  which 
exist  in  Boston  (it  is  already,  though  young,  better  provided 
with  everything  than  Barbadoes),  the  excehence  of  the 
climate,  the  books  which  are  there,  the  printing-press  which 
hath  already  been  established,  the  learned  ministers,  th«  col- 
lege, the  schools,  and  the  freedom  of  religion,  I  should  have 
been  nothing  loath  to  remain  there.  But  I  was  constrained 
first  to  go  home.  I  found  also,  which  astonished  me,  so 
great  a  love  of  liberty  that  the  people  speak  slightingly  of 
the  English  at  home  who  tamely  suffer  the  disabilities  of  the 
Nonconformists  and  the  prerogative  of  the  crown,  and  they 
ask  why,  when  the  country  had  succeeded  in  establishing  a 
commonwealth,  they  could  not  keep  it.  It  certainly  cannot 
be  denied,  as  they  argue,  that  Israel  acted  against  the  will 
of  the  Lord  in  seeking  a  king. 

So  we  left  them.  But  in  how  changed  a  condition  did  we 
now  cross  the  ocean.  Instead  of  huddling  in  a  noisome  and 
stinking  dungeon,  unclean  for  want  of  water,  ill  fed,  and 
with  no  change  of  raiment,  we  had  now  comfortable  cabins, 
clothes  such  as  become  a  gentleman,  and  food  of  the  best. 
And  Barnaby,  who  had  then  sat  humbly  in  the  waist,  where 
the  prisoners  were  confined,  now  walked  the  quarter-deck,  a 
lace  kerchief  round  his  neck,  lace  ruffles  at  his  wrists,  a 
scarlet  coat,  a  sword  at  his  side,  and  gold  lace  in  his  hat,  the 
captain  of  the  ship. 

The  winds  were  contrary,  and  it  was  not  until  the  last 
days  of  October  that  we  arrived  at  Bristol.  Here  we  lay  for 
a  few  days  while  Barnaby  transacted  his  business,  resolving 
to  remain  in  retirement,  for  fear  of  accidents,  until  our  cap- 
tain should  be  ready  to  ride  with  us  to  Bradford  Orcas. 

The  first  news  we  learned  was  joyful  indeed.  It  was  that 
the  Prince  of  Orange  himself  was  about  to  invade  England, 
with  intent  to  drive  his  father-in-law  from  the  throne.  (He 
had,  indeed,  already  sailed,  but  his  fleet  was  driven  back  by 
a  storm. )  It  was  also  stated  that  he  had  with  him  a  great 
army  of  Dutch  and  English,  and  such  preparations  of  arms 
and  ammunition  as  (it  was  hoped)  would  make  such  a  fail- 
ure as  that  of  our  unhappy  duke  impossible. 

We  also  confirmed  Barnal)y's  information  that  Monmouth's 
men  could  now  go  about  without  fear  or  molestation.  As 
to  the  position  of  affairs  at  Bradford  Orcas,  we  could  learn 
nothing. 

There  was  one  point  in  which  I  was  curious  :  namely,  as 
to  what  Barnaby  would  do  in  the  matter  of  the  villain  Penne. 
On  the  one  hand  it  was  certain  that  Barnaby  would  not  for- 


354 


FOR  FAITH  jiiVD  FREEDOM. 


get  this  man,  nor  was  he  likely  to  sit  down  with  his  arms 
folded  after  he  had  been  robbed  of  so  great  a  sum. 

Therefore,  I  was  not  surprised  when,  the  evening  before 
we  rode  out  of  Bristol,  he  brought  a  big  bag  of  blue  stuff  in 
his  hands  and  poured  out  the  contents,  a  vast  shower  of  gold 
pieces,  into  the  lap  of  his  astonished  sister. 

"Grace,"  he  said,  "  I  bring  you  back  your  money.  Yo', 
will  tind  it  all  here,  andJNIr.  Boscorel's  money  to  boot.  IK- 
hath  disgorged.'' 

With  that  he  s-at  down  and  laughed,  but  as  one  who  hat'.! 
a  joke  in  secret,  and  would  tell  us  no  more. 

For  a  day  or  two  after  this  he  would  (on  the  road  to  Brad- 
ford Orcas)  begin  to  laugh  at  intervals,  rolling  about  in  his 
saddle,  shaking  his  sides,  choking  with  laughter,  insomuch 
that  I  presently  lost  patience  with  him,  and,  as  a  physician, 
ordered  'him  instantly  to  make  full  confidence,  or  I  would 
not  answer  for  it  but  he  would  have  a  fit. 

Then  he  told  us  what  he  had  done. 

Towards  five  in  the  afternoon,  when  the  winter  day  is 
ended,  he  repaired  to  the  man  Penne's  counting-house,  a 
place  easily  found  on  inquiry,  having  with  him  one  of  those 
fellows  who  bawl  at  fairs,  selling  medicines  and  charms, 
drawing  teeth,  letting  blood,  and  so  forth.  At  the  sight  of 
a  sea-captain,  many  of  whom  came  to  this  place,  the  worthy 
merchant's  servant  without  suspicion  opened  the  door  of  his 
private  office,  or  chamber,  where  I\Ir.  Penne  transacted  his 
affairs.  Barnaby  found  him  dozing  by  the  fire,  his  wig  on 
the  table,  a  silk  handkerchief  over  his  head,  and  the  candles 
already  lighted. 

He  awoke,  however,  on  the  opening  of  the  door. 

"  Friend,"  said  Barnaby,  "  I  am  Captain  Barnaby  Eykin, 
commanding  the  ship  Pilgrim  from  Boston,  at  your  service. 
1  am  also  brother  to  the  young  woman,  Grace  Fykin,  whom 
you  robbed  ('twas  my  money)  of  two  hundred  and  lifty 
pounds,  and  afterwards  kidnapped. " 

Mr.  Penne  looked  about  him  and  would  have  cried  out  for 
assistance  ;  but  Barnaby  clapped  a  pistol  to  his  forehead. 
Then  he  sank  in  his  chair  and  gasped. 

"  Stir  not,"  said  his  enemy.  "I  am  also  one  of  the  three 
rebels  for  whose  ransom  the  Reverend  Philip  Boscorel, 
Rector  of  Bradford  Orcas,  paid  the  sum  of  two  hundred  and 
ten  pounds — which  you  have  also  stolen.'' 

"Sir,"  said  Mr.  Penne,  "upon  my  honor  those  moneys 
Were  sent  to  Barbadoes.     Upon  my  honor,  sir." 

' '  You  will  therefore,"  said  Barnaby,  taking  no  heed  of  this 


FOR  FAITH  AND  rt^LEDOM. 


355 


assurance,  "pay  over  to  me  the  sum  of  four  hundred  and 
sixty  pounds  with  interest  at  five  per  cent  for  three  years, 
which  I  have  calculated.  The  whole  amount  is  five  hun- 
dred and  twenty-nine  pounds.  Begin  by  paying  this." 
Well,  to  make  a  long  story  short,  though  the  man  protested 
that  he  had  not  so  much  in  the  world,  yet  he  presently 
opened  his  strong  box  and  counted  out  the  money,  all  in 
gold.     This  done  he  hoped  to  be  let  off. 

"There  now  remains,"  said  Barnaby,  "the  punishment. 
And  I  forgot  sister's  ring.  I  ought  to  have  added  fifty  pounds 
for  that ;  but  time  presses.  Perhaps  I  shall  come  back  ;  I 
did  intend  to  kill  thee,  brother,  for  thy  great  villainy. 
However — " 

He  then  beckoned  the  man  with  him,  who  lugged  out  of 
his  pocket  an  instrument  which  made  Mr.  Penne  shake  and 
quake  with  terror.  Barnaby  then  informed  his  victim  that 
as  he  had  been  the  means  of  inflicting  grievous  bodily  suffer- 
ing upon  four  undeserving  people,  it  was  meet  and  right 
that  he  himself  should  experience  something  which,  by  its 
present  agony,  should  make  him  compassionate  for  the  fu- 
ture, and  by  its  permanence  of  injury  should  prevent  his 
ever  forgetting  that  compassion  for  the  rest  of  his  life. 

He  therefore,  he  told  him,  intended  to  draw  from  his  head 
four  of  his  stoutest  and  strongest  grinders. 

This,  in  a  word,  he  did,  the  man  with  him  dragging  them 
out  with  the  pincers,  Barnaby  holding  the  pistol  to  the  poor 
wretch's  head,  so  that  he  should  not  bellow  and  call  for  as- 
sistance. 

His  laughter  was  caused  by  the  remembrance  of  the 
twisting  of  the  man's  features  in  this  agony  and  by  his 
moanings  and  groanings.  The  grinders  he  had  brought 
away  with  him  in  his  pocket,  and  showed  them  in  triumph. 
It  was  late  in  the  afternoon  when  we  rode  into  Bradford 
Orcas.  The  wintry  sun,  now  setting,  lay  upon  the  woods, 
yellow  and  red  with  the  autumn  leaves  not  yet  fallen.  As 
we  neared  the  village  the  sun  went  down  and  a  mist  began 
to  rise.  The  doors  wero  closed  and  no  one  looked  forth  to 
greet  us ;  the  old  cottage  where  Grace  was  born  and  lived, 
so  long  was  empty  still  ;  the  door  was  open,  the  shutter 
hung  upon  one  hinge ;  the  honey  hives  were  overturned, 
the  thatch  was  broken,  the  garden  was  neglected. 

"Why,  Sis,"  said  Barnaby,  "thy  mother  is  not  there,  nor 
dad  ;  is  he  ?     Poor  old  dad  !  " 

We  rode  up  the  village  till  we  came  to  the  church  and  the 
manor-house  beside  it.     Alas  !  the  house  itself  was  closed, 


J5^ 


FOR  FAITH  A.Vn  FRFFDOyf. 


which  had  formerly  stood  open  to  all.  There  was  no  smoke 
from  its  chimneys,  and  the  grass  grew  in  the  courtyard. 
We  dismounted  and  opened  the  door,  which  was  not  locked. 
We  went  into  the  house  ;  all  was  cold,  was  empty,  and  de- 
serted. The  twilight  falling  outside  made  the  rooms  dark. 
Beside  the  fireplace  stood  Sir  Christopher's  great  chair, 
empty  ;  his  tankard  was  on  the  table,  and  his  tobacco,  pipe, 
and — strange — lay  forgotten,  the  unhappy  duke's  proclama- 
tion. 

Then  a  truly  wonderful  thing  happened.  Barnaby  says 
that  I  must  have  dreamed  it,  for  he  saw  nothing.  Suddenly 
Sir  Christopher  appeared  sitting  in  the  chair  ;  on  his  knees 
lay  the  Bible,  open.  Beside  him  stood  with  upraised  fore- 
finger, as  if  commenting  on  some  knotty  point,  the  Rev. 
Dr.  Comfort  Eykin.  I  declare  that  I  saw  them  plainly,  as 
plainly  as  I  now  behold  the  paper  on  which  I  write.  They 
were  but  as  shadows  in  the  dark,  shadows  of  the  empty 
room,  and  they  appeared  but  for  a  moment  and  then  van- 
ished, and  I  saw  them  no  more. 

"  Come  to  the  rectorv,"  said  Robin.  "It  chokes  us  to  be 
here." 

"Listen,"  said  Grace,  outside  the  house. 
From  the  rectory  there  came  the  sound  of  a  violoncello. 
Then  was  the  good  rector  himself  there,    comforting  his 
soul. 

We  opened  the  garden  gate  and  walked  softly  across  the 
lawn  and  looked  in  at  the  window  ;  'twas  made  after  the 
foreign  fashion,  to  open  upon  the  lawn.  Beside  the  fire  sat 
madam,  her  hands  clasped,  thin,  pale,  and  prematurely  aged. 
Thus  had  she  sat  for  three  long  years,  still  waiting  for  news 
of  her  son. 

The  rector  laid  down  his  bow,  crossed  the  room,  and  sat 
down  to  the  spinnet,  on  which  he  played  prettily,  but  not 
with  such  command  as  he  possessed  over  the  other  instru- 
ment. He  played — I  caught  Grace's  hand — an  air  of  my 
own  making,  to  which  I  had  set  certain  words,  also  of  my 
own. 

Then,  while  he  played,  we  began  to  sing  outside  the 
window,  Grace  singing  treble,  or  first,  and  I  the  second  part, 
the  words  of  that  little  song.  We  sang  it  piano,  or  softly, 
at  first,  and  then  crescendo,  or  louder  : 

"As  rides  the  7110011  in  azure  skies 
The  twinkling  stars  beside  ; 
As  when  in  splendor  she  doth  rise, 
The  lesser  lights  they  hide. 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  357 

"  So  beside  Celia,  when  her  face  we  see, 
All  unregarded  other  maidens  be." 

When  we  began,  softly  as  I  said,  the  rector  looked  round 
him,  playing  still  and  listening.  He  thought  the  voices  were 
in  his  own  brain,  echoes  or  memories  of  the  past.  Madam 
heard  them,  too,  and  sat  up,  listening  as  one  who  listens  in 
a  dream.  When  we  sang  louder,  madam  sprang  to  her  feet 
and  held  out  her  arms,  but  the  rector  played  the  verse  quite 
through.  Then  he  opened  the  window  for  us. 
"  My  son,  my  son  !  "  cried  madam. 


CHAPTER  L 

THE  GREAT  LORD  CHANCELLOR. 

But  the  Prince  of  Orange  had  already  landed. 

We  learned  this  news  next  day,  and  you  may  be  sure  that 
we  were  in  the  saddle  again  and  riding  to  Exeter,  there  to 
join  his  standard. 

This  we  did  with  the  full  consent  of  madam  and  of  Grace  ; 
much  as  we  had  suffered  already,  they  would  not  deter  us, 
because  this  thing  would  have  been  approved  by  Sir  Chris- 
topher and  Dr.  Eykin.     Therefore  we  went. 

My  second  campaign,  as  everybody  knows,  was  blood- 
less. To  begin  with,  we  had  an  army,  not  of  raw  country 
lads  armed  indifferently  and  untrained,  but  of  veteran  troops, 
fifteen  thousand  strong,  all  well  equipped,  and  with  the  best 
general  in  Europe  at  their  head.  At  first,  indeed,  such  was 
the  dread  in  men's  mind  caused  by  Lord  Jeffrey's  cruelties, 
few  came  in  ;  yet  this  was  presently  made  up  by  what  fol- 
lowed, when,  without  any  fighting  at  all,  the  king's  rcgiment« 
melted  away,  his  priests  tied,  and  his  friends  deserted  him. 
This  was  a  very  different  business  from  that  other,  when  we 
followed  one  whom  I  now  know  to  have  been  a  mere  tinsel 
pretender,  no  better  fitted  to  be  a  king  than  a  vagabond 
actor  at  a  fair  is  fit  to  be  a  lord.  Alas  !  what  blood  was 
wasted  in  that  mad  attempt,  of  which  I  was  myself  one  of 
the  most  eager  promoters  !  I  was  then  young,  and  I  be- 
lieved all  that  I  was  told  by  the  conspirators  in  Holland  ;  I 
took  their  list  of  well-wishers  for  insurgents  already  armed 
and  waiting  only  for  a  signal ;  1  thought  the  roll  of  noble 


358  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

names  set  down  for  sturdy  Protestants  as  that  of  men  al- 
ready pledged  to  the  cause  ;  I  believed  that  the  whole  nation 
would  rise  at  the  first  opportunity  to  turn  out  the  priests  ;  I 
even  believed  in  the  legitimacy  of  the  duke,  and  that  against 
the  express  statement  of  his  father  (if  King  Charles  was  in 
reality  his  father),  and  I  believed  what  they  told  me  of  his 
^  rincely  virtues,  hisknowledgeoftheartufwar,  andhisheroic 
valor.  I  say  that  I  believed  all  these  things,  and  that  I  be- 
came a  willing  and  zealous  tool  in  their  hands.  As  for  what 
those  who  planned  the  expedition  believed,  I  know  not ; 
nor  will  any  one  now  ever  learn  what  promises  were  made 
to  the  duke,  what  were  broken,  and  why  he  was,  from  the 
outset,  save  for  a  few  days  at  Taunton,  so  dejected  and 
disappointed.  As  for  me,  I  shall  always  believe  that  the  un- 
happy man,  unwise  and  soft-hearted,  was  betrayed  by  those 
whom  he  trusted. 

It  is  now  an  old  tale,  though  King  Monmouth  will  not 
speedily  be  forgotten  in  the  West  Country,  nor  will  the 
memor}'-  of  the  Bloody  Assize.  The  brave  lads  who  follow- 
ed him  are  dead  and  buried,  some  in  unhonored  graves  hard 
by  the  place  where  they  were  hanged  ;  some  under  the  burn- 
ing sun  of  the  West  Indies  ;  the  duke  himself  hath  long  since 
paid  the  penalty  of  his  rash  attempt  All  is  over  and  ended, 
except  the  memory  of  it. 

It  is  now  common  history,  known  to  everybody,  how  the 
Prince  of  Orange  lingered  in  the  West  Country,  his  army 
inactive,  as  if  he  knew  (doubtless  he  was  well  informed 
upon  the  particular)  that  the  longer  he  remained  idle,  the 
more  likely  was  the  king's  cause  to  fall  to  pieces.  There 
are  some  who  think  that  if  King  James  had  risked  an  ac- 
tion he  could  not  but  have  gained,  whatsoever  its  event ;  I 
mean  that,  the  blood  of  his  soldiers  once  roused,  they  would 
have  remained  steadfast  to  him  and  would  have  fought  for 
him.  But  this  he  dared  not  to  risk,  wherefore  the  prince 
did  nothing,  while  the  king's  regiments  fell  to  pieces,  and 
his  friends  deserted  him.  It  was  in  December  when  the 
prince  came  to  Windsor,  and  I  with  him,  once  more  chir- 
urgeon  in  a  rebel  army.  While  there  I  rode  to  London, 
partly  with  the  intention  of  judging  for  myself  on  the  temper 
of  this  people,  partly  because,  after  so  long  an  absence,  I 
wished  once  more  to  visit  a  place  where  there  are  books  and 
pictures,  and  partly  because  there  were  certain  roots  and 
herbs  which  I  desired  to  communicate  to  the  college  of  phy- 
sicians in  Warwick  Lane.  It  happened  to  be  the  very  day 
when  the  king's  first  flig-ht — that,  namely,  when  he  was 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  359 

f*ken  in  the  Isle  of  Sheppy — became  known.  The  streets 
in  the  city  of  London  I  found  crowded  with  people  hurrying 
to  and  fro,  running  in  bands  and  companies,  shouting  and 
crying  as  if  in  the  presence  of  some  great  and  imminent 
danger.  It  was  reported,  and  currently  believed,  that  the 
disbanded  Irish  soldiers  had  begun  to  massacre  the  Protes- 
tants. There  was  no  truth  at  all  in  the  report,  but  yet  the 
bells  were  ringing  from  all  the  towers,  the  crowds  were  ex- 
horting each  other  to  tear  down  and  destroy  the  Romish 
chapels,  to  hunt  for  and  to  hang  the  priests,  and  especially 
Jesuits  (I  know  not  whether  they  found  any),  and  to  shout 
for  the  Prince  of  Orange.  I  stood  aside  to  let  the  crowds 
(thus  religiously  disposed)  run  past,  but  there  seemed  no 
end  to  them.  Presently,  however  (this  was  in  the  front  of 
the  new  Royal  Exchange),  there  drew  near  another  kind  of 
crowd.  There  marched  six  or  eight  sturdy  fellows  bearing 
stout  cudgels  and  hauling  along  a  prisoner.  Round  them 
there  ran  shrieking,  hooting,  and  cursing  a  mob  of  a  hundred 
men  and  more  ;  they  continually  made  attacks  upon  the 
guard,  fighting  them  with  sticks  and  fists,  but  they  were 
always  thrust  back.  I  thought  at  first  that  they  had  caught 
some  poor  wretched  priest  whom  they  desired  to  murder. 
But  it  proved  to  be  a  prize  worth  many  priests.  As  they 
drew  nearer,  I  discerned  the  prisoner.  He  was  dressed  in 
the  garb  of  a  common  sailor,  with  short  petticoats  (what 
they  call  slops)  and  a  jacket ;  his  cap  had  been  torn  off, 
leaving  the  bare  skull,  which  showed  that  he  was  no  sailor 
(because  common  sailors  do  not  wear  wigs)  ;  blood  was 
flowing  down  his  cheek  from  a  fresh  wound  ;  his  eyes  rolled 
hither  and  thither  in  an  extremity  of  terror  ;  I  could  not 
hear  what  he  said,  for  the  shouting  of  those  around  him, 
but  his  lips  moved,  and  I  think  he  was  praying  his  guards 
to  close  in  and  to  protect  him.  Never,  surely,  -was  seen  a 
more  terror-stricken  creature. 

I  knew  his  face.  Once  seen  (I  had  seen  it  once)  it  could 
never  be  forgotten.  The  red  and  bloated  cheeks  which  even 
his  fear  could  not  make  pale  ;  the  eyes,  more  terrible  than 
have  been  given  to  any  other  human  creature,  these  I  could 
not  forget  ;  in  dreams  I  sec  them  still.  I  saw  that  face  at 
Exeter,  when  the  cruel  judge  exulted  over  our  misery,  and 
rejoiced  over  the  sentence  which  he  pronounced.  Yea,  he 
laughed  when  he  told  us  how  we  should  swing,  but  not  till 
we  were  dead,  and  then  the  knife — delivering  his  sentence  so 
that  no  single  point  of  its  horror  should  be  lost  to  us.  Yes  ; 
it  was  the  face  of  Judge  Jeffreys — none  other — this  abject 


j(5o  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

wretch  was  that  great  Judge.  Why,  when  we  went  back  t« 
our  prison,  there  were  some  who  cast  themselves  upon  the 
ground,  and  for  terror  of  what  was  to  come  fell  into  a  mere 
dementia.  And  now  I  saw  him  thus  humbled,  thus  dis- 
graced, thus  threatened,  thus  in  the  last  extremity  and  agony 
of  terror. 

They  had  discovered  him  thus  disguised  and  in  hiding  at 
SI  tavern  in  Wapping,  and  were  dragging  him  to  the  presence 
of  the  lord  mayon  It  is  a  long  distance  from  Wapping  to 
Guildhall,  and  they  went  but  slowly,  because  they  were 
beset  and  surrounded  by  these  wolves  who  howled  to  have 
his  blood.  And  all  the  way  he  shrieked  and  trembled  for 
fear  ! 

Sure  and  certain  is  the  vengeance  of  the  Lord  ! 

This  Haman,  this  unjust  judge,  was  thus  suffering,  at  the 
hands  of  the  savage  mob,  pangs  far  worse  than  those  en- 
dured by  the  poor  rustics  whom  he  had  delivered  to  the 
executioner.  I  say  worse,  because  I  have  not  only  read, 
but  have  myself  proved,  that  the  rich  and  the  learned,  those, 
(hat  is,  who  live  luxuriously,  and  those  who  have  power  to 
imagine  and  to  feel  beforehand,  do  suffer  far  more  in  disease 
than  the  common  ignorant  folk.  The  scholar  dies  of  terror 
before  ever  he  feels  the  surgeon's  knife,  while  the  rustic  bares 
his  limb,  insensible  and  callous,  however  deep  the  cut,  or 
keen  the  pain.  I  make  no  doubt,  therefore,  that  the  great 
lord  chancellor,  while  they  haled  all  the  way  from  Wap- 
ping to  Guildhall,  suffered  as  much  as  fifty  ploughboys  flog- 
ged at  the  cart-tail. 

Many  thousands  there  were  who  desired  revenge  upon 
him.  I  know  not  what  revenge  would  satisfy  the  implaca- 
ble, because  revenge  can  do  no  more  than  kill  the  body  ; 
but  his  worst  enemy  should  be  satisfied  with  this  his  dread- 
ful fate.  Even  Barnaby,  who  was  sad  because  he  could  get 
no  revenge  on  his  own  account  (he  wanted  a  bloody  battle, 
with  the  rout  of  the  king's  armies,  and  the  pursuit  of  a  flying 
enemy,  such  as  had  happened  at  Sedgemoor),  was  satisfied 
with  the  justice  which  was  done  to  that  miserable  man.  It 
is  wonderful  that  he  was  not  killed  amidst  so  many  threaten- 
ing cudgels  ;  but  his  guards  prevented  that,  not  for  any  love 
they  bare  him,  but  quite  the  contrary  (more  unforgiving 
faces  one  never  saw)  ;  for  they  intended  to  hand  him  over 
to  the  lord  mayor,  and  that  he  should  be  tried  for  all  his 
cruelties  and  treacheries,  and  perhaps  experience,  himself 
that  punishment  of  hanging  and  disembowelling  which  he 
had  inflicted  on  so  many  ignorant  and  misled  men. 


Jrdk  FAITH  AND  FREEDOAf.  j6t 

How  he  was  committed  to  the  Tower,  where  he  shortly 
died  in  the  greatest  torture  of  body  as  well  as  mind,  every- 
body knows. 


CHAPTER  LL 

THE    CONFESSION. 

Now  I  am  come  to  the  last  event  of  this  history,  and  I 
have  to  write  down  the  confession  of  my  own  share  in  that 
event  For  the  others — for  Grace  and  Robin — the  thing 
must  be  considered  as  the  crown  and  completion  of  all  the 
mercies.  For  me — what  is  it }  But  you  shall  hear.  When 
the  secrets  of  all  hearts  are  laid  open,  then  will  Grace  hear  it 
also  ;  what  she  will  then  say,  or  what  think,  I  know  not. 
It  was  done  for  her  sake  ;  for  her  happiness  have  I  laid  this 
guilt  upon  my  soul.  Nay,  when  the  voice  of  conscience 
doth  exhort  me  to  repent,  and  to  confess  my  sin,  then  there 
still  ariseth  within  my  soul,  as  it  were,  the  strain  of  a  joyful 
hymn,  a  song  of  gratitude  that  I  was  enabled  to  return  her 
to  freedom  and  the  arms  of  the  man  she  loved.  If  any 
learned  doctor  of  divinity,  or  any  versed  in  that  science 
which  the  Romanists  love  (they  call  it  casuistry),  should 
happen  to  read  this  chapter  of  confession,  I  pray  that  they 
consider  my  case,  even  though  it  will  then  be  useless  as  far 
as  I  myself  am  concerned,  seeing  that  I  shall  be  gone  be- 
fore a  judge  who  will,  I  hope — even  though  my  earthly  af- 
fections do  not  suffer  me  to  separate  my  sin  from  the  conse- 
quences which  followed — be  more  merciful  than  I  have 
ieserved. 

While,  then,  I  stood  watching  this  signal  example  of  God's 
^-rath,  I  was  plucked  gently  by  the  sleeve,  and  turning,  saw 
one  whose  countenance  I  knew  not.  He  was  dressed  as  a 
lawyer,  but  his  gown  was  ragged  and  his  bands  yellow. 
He  looked  sunk  in  poverty,  and  his  face  was  inflated  with 
those  signs  which  proclaim  aloud  the  habit  of  immoderate 
drinking. 

"  Sir,"  he  said,  "  if  I  mistake  not,  you  are  Dr.  Humphrey 
Challis." 

"The  same,  sic,  at  your  service,"  I  replied,  with  some 
misgivings  ;  and  yet,  being  one  of  the  prince's  following, 
there  needed  none. 


j^Ht  ^'OJi  FAirn  AND  FREEDOM. 

"I  have  seen  you,  sir,  in  the  chambers  of  your  cousin, 
Mr.  Benjamin  Boscorel,  my  brother  learned  in  the  law.  We 
drank  together,  though  I  remember,  you  still  passed  the 
bottle.  It  is  now  four  or  five  years  ago  ;  I  wonder  not  that 
you  have  forgotten  me.  We  change  quickly,  we  who  are 
the  jolly  companions  of  the  bottle  ;  we  drink  our  noses  red, 
and  we  paint  our  cheeks  purple.  Nay,  we  drink  ourselves 
out  of  our  last  gumea  and  our  very  apparel.  What  then, 
sir.?  A  short  life  and  a  merry.  Sir,  yonder  is  a  sorry  sight. 
The  first  law  officer  of  the  crown  thus  to  be  hauled  along 
the  streets  by  a  howling  mob.  Ought  such  a  thing  to  be  suf- 
fered ?     'Tis  a  sad  and  sorry  sight,  I  say." 

"Sir,"  I  replied,  hotly,  "ought  such  villains  as  Judge 
Jeffreys  to  be  suffered  to  live  !  " 

He  considered  a  little,  as  one  who  is  astonished  and  de- 
sires to  collect  his  thoughts.  Perhaps  he  had  already  taken 
more  than  a  morning  draught. 

"  I  remember  now,"  he  said.  "  My  memory  is  not  so 
good  as  it  was.  We  drink  that  away  as  well.  Yes,  I  re- 
member ;  I  crave  your  forgiveness,  doctor.  You  were 
yourself  engaged  with  Monmouth.  Your  cousin  told  me  as 
much.  Naturally,  you  love  not  this  good  judge,  who  yet 
did  nothing  but  what  the  king,  his  master,  ordered  him  to 
do.  I,  sir,  have  often  had  the  honor  of  sitting  over  a  bottle 
with  his  lordship.  When  his  infirmities  allowed — though 
not  yet  old  he  is  grievously  afflicted — he  had  no  equal  for  a 
song  or  a  jest,  and  would  drink  so  long  as  any  Avere  left  to 
keep  him  company.  Ha  !  They  have  knocked  him  down, 
now  they  will  kill  him.  No  ;  he  is  again  upon  his  feet. 
Those  who  protect  him  close  in  ;  so,  they  have  passed  out 
of  our  sight  Doctor,  shall  we  crack  a  flask  together .?  I 
have  no  money,  unhappily,  but  I  will,  with  pleasure,  drink 
at  thy  expense." 

I  remembered  the  man's  face  now,  but  not  his  name. 
'Twas  one  of  Ben's  boon  companions.  Well,  if  hard  drink- 
ing brings  men  so  speedily  to  rags  and  poverty,  even  though 
it  be  a  merry  life,  which  I  doubt,  give  me  moderation. 

"  Pray,  sir,"  I  said,  coldly,  "have  me  excused.  I  am  no 
drinker. " 

"Then,  doctor,  you  will,  perhaps,  lend  me,  until  we 
meet  again,  a  single  guinea."  I  foolishly  complied  with  this 
request.  "  Doctor,  I  thank  you,"  he  said.  "Will  you  now 
come  and  drink  with  me,  at  my  expense.?  Sir,  I  say  plainly. 
you  do  not  well  to  refuse  a  friendly  glass.  I  could  tell  you 
many  things,  if  you  would  but  drink  with  me,  concerning 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  ■j^^^'i^ 

my  Lord  Jeffreys.  There  are  things  which  would  make 
you  laugh.  Come,  doctor,  I  love  not  to  drink  alone.  Your 
cousin,  now,  was  always  ready  to  drink  with  any  man, 
until  he  fell  ill. " 

"  How,  is  my  cousin  ill .?  " 

"Assuredly.  He  is  sick  unto  death.  Yesterday  I  went  to 
visit  him,  thinking  to  drink  a  glass  with  him,  and,  perhaps, 
to  borrow  a  guinea  or  two,  but  found  him  in  bed  and  rav- 
ing. If  you  will  drink  with  me,  doctor,  I  can  tell  you  many 
curious  things  about  your  cousin.  And  now,  I  remember, 
you  were  sent  to  the  plantations  ;  your  cousin  told  me  so. 
You  have  returned  before  your  time.  Well,  the  king  hath 
run  away  ;  you  are  doubtless  safe.  Your  cousin  hath  got- 
ten his  grandfather's  estate.  Lord  Jeffreys,  who  loved  him 
mightily,  procured  that  grant  for  him.  When  your  cousin 
wakes  at  night  he  swears  that  he  sees  his  grandfather  by 
his  bedside,  looking  at  him  reproachfully,  so  that  he  drinks 
the  harder — 'tis  a  merry  life.  He  hath  also  married  a  wife, 
and  she  ran  away  from  him  at  the  church  door,  and  he  now 
cannot  hear  of  her  or  find  her  anywhere.  So  that  he  curses 
her  and  drinks  the  harder — oh,  'tis  always  the  jolliest  dog. 
They  say  that  he  is  not  the  lawyer  that  he  was,  and  that  his 
clients  are  leaving  him.  All  mine  have  left  me  long  since. 
Come  and  drink  with  me,  doctor." 

I  broke  away  from  the  poor  toper  who  had  drunk  up  his 
wits  as  well  as  his  money,  and  hurried  to  my  cousin's 
chambers,  into  which  I  had  not  thought  to  enter,,  save  as 
one  who  brings  reproaches — a  useless  burden. 

Benjamin  was  lying  in  bed  ;  an  old  crone  sat  by  the  fire, 
nodding.  Beside  her  was  a  bottle,  and  she  was,  I  found, 
half  drunk.  Her  I  quickly  sent  about  her  business.  No 
one  else  had  been  attending  him.  Yet  he  was  laid  low,  as  I 
presently  discovered  with  that  kind  of  fever  which  is  bred  in 
the  villainous  air  of  our  prisons — the  same  fever  which  had 
carried  off  his  grandfather. 

Perhaps  if  there  were  no  foul  and  stinking  wards,  jails, 
and  chinks,  this  kind  of  fever  would  be  banished  altogether, 
and  be  no  more  seen.  So,  if  we  could  discover  the  origin 
and  cause  of  all  diseases  we  might,  once  more,  restore  man 
to  his  primitive  condition,  which  I  take  to  have  been  one 
/ree  from  any  kind  of  disease  or  infirmity,  designed  at  first 
by  his  Creator  so  to  live  forever,  and  after  the  Fall,  enabled, 
when  medicine  hath  so  far  advanced,  to  die  of  old  age  after 
such  prolong^ation  of  life  and  strenjjth  as  yet  we  cannot  ev«n 
understand. 


364  ^OR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

"Cousin,"  I  said,  "I  am  sorry  to  find  thee  lying  m  this 
condition." 

"  Ay,"  he  replied,  in  a  voice  weak  and  low,  not  like  his 
old  blustering  tones.  "Curse  me  and  upbraid  me  if  yon 
will.  How  art  thou  come  hither?  Is  it  the  ghost  of  Hum- 
phrey .?  Art  thou  dead,  like  my  grandfather  ?  Are  we  on  the 
plantations  of  Barbadoes  ?  " 

"  Indeed  I  am  no  ghost,  Benjamin.  As  for  curses,  I  have 
none  ;  and  as  for  reproaches,  I  leave  them  to  your  con- 
science. " 

"  Humphrey,  I  am  sore  afflicted.  I  am  now  so  low  that 
I  cannot  even  sit  upright  in  my  bed.  But  you  are  a  doctor  ; 
you  will  bring  me  back  to  health.  I  am  already  better  only 
for  seeing  you  here." 

I  declare  that  as  yet  I  had  no  thought,  no  thought  at  all, 
of  what  I  was  to  do.  I  was  but  a  physician  in  presence  of 
a  sick  man,  and  therefore  bound  to  help  him  if  I  could. 

I  asked  him,  first,  certain  questions,  as  physicians  use,  con- 
cerning his  disorder  and  its  symptoms.  I  learned  that,  after 
attending  at  the  court,  he  was  attacked  by  fits  of  shivering 
and  of  great  heat,  being  hot  and  cold  alternately,  and  that 
in  order  to  expel  the  fever  he  had  sat  drinking  the  whole 
evening — a  most  dangerous  thing  to  do.  Next,  that  in  the 
morning  he  had  been  unable  to  rise  from  his  bed,  and  being 
thirsty  had  drunk  more  wine — a  thing  enough  of  itself  to 
kill  a  man  in  such  a  fever.  Then  he  lost  his  head,  and 
could  tell  me  no  more  what  had  happened  until  he  saw  me 
standing  by  his  bedside.  In  short,  he  had  been  in  delirium, 
and  was  now  in  a  lucid  interval,  out  of  which  he  would  pres- 
ently fall  a-wandering  again,  and  perhaps  raving  ;  and  so 
another  lucid  interval,  after  which  he  would  die  unless  some- 
thing could  be  done  for  him. 

I  liked  not  his  appearance  nor  the  account  whictiTie  gave 
me,  nor  did  I  like  his  pulse  or  the  strange  look  in  his  eyes. 
Death  doth  often  show  his  coming  by  such  a  prophetic 
terror  of  the  eyes. 

"  Humphrey,"  he  said,  pitifully.  "  It  was  by  no  fault  ol 
mine  that  thou  wast  sent  to  the  plantations." 

"That  I  know  full  well,  cousin,"  I  answered  him.  "  Be 
easy  on  that  score. " 

"  And  as  for  Grace,"  he  went  on.      "  All  is  fair  in  love." 

I  made  n»  reply  because,  at  this  point,  a  great  temptation 
assailed  my  soul. 

You  have  heard  how  Ilearned  many  secrets  of  the  women 
while  I  was  abroad.     Now.  while  we  were  in    Providence 


FOR  FAITH  A.VD  FKEED9M. 


365 


Island,  I  found  a  woman  of  the  breed  they  call  half-caste, 
that  is,  half  Indian  and  half  Portuguese,  living  in  what  she 
called  wedlock  with  an  English  sailor,  who  did  impart  to 
me  a  great  secret  of  her  own  people.  I  obtained  from  her, 
not  only  the  knowledge  of  a  most  potent  drug  (known  al- 
ready to  the  Jesuits),  but  also  a  goodly  quantity  of  the  drug 
itself.  This,  with  certain  other  discoveries  and  observations 
of  my  own,  I  was  about  to  communicate  to  the  college  in 
Warwick  Lane. 

As  for  this  drug,  I  verily  believe  it  is  the  most  potent 
medicine  ever  yet  discovered.  It  is  now  some  years  since 
it  was  first  brought  over  to  Europe  by  the  Jesuits,  and  is 
therefore  called  Pulvis  Jesuiticus,  and  sometimes  Peruvian 
Bark.  When  administered  at  such  a  stage  of  the  fever  as 
had  now  been  reached  by  my  unhappy  cousin,  it  seldom 
fails  to  vivify  the  spirits  and  so  to  act  upon  the  nerves  as  to 
restore  the  sinking,  and  to  call  back  to  life  a  man  almost 
moribund. 

Remembering  this,  I  lugged  the  packet  out  of  my  pocket 
and  laid  it  on  the  table. 

"  Be  of  good  cheer,  cousin, "  I  said.  "I  have  a  drug 
which  is  strong  enough,  with  the  help  of  God,  to  make  a 
dying  man  sit  up  again.     Courage,  then." 

When  I  had  said  these  words  my  temptation  fell  upon 
me.  It  came  in  the  guise  of  a  voice  which  whispered  in 
my  ear. 

"  Should  this  man  die,"  it  said,  "there  will  be  freedom 
for  Grace.  She  can  then  marry  the  man  she  loves.  She 
will  be  restored  to  happiness.  While  he  lives  she  must 
still  continue  in  misery,  being  cut  off  from  love.  Let  him 
die,  therefore." 

"  Humphrey,"  said  Ben,  "  in  this  matter  of  Grace  ;  if  she 
will  come  to  me,  I  will  make  her  happy.  But  I  know  not 
where  she  is  hidden.  Things  go  ill  with  me  since  that  un- 
lucky day.  I  would  to  God  I  had  not  done  it.  Nothing 
hath  gone  well  since  ;  and  I  drink  daily  to  hide  her  face. 
Yet  at  night  she  haunts  me,  with  her  father  who  threatens, 
and  her  mother  who  weeps,  and  my  grandfather  who  re- 
proaches. Humphrey,  tell  me,  what  is  it,  man  ?  What 
mean  your  looks  ?  " 

For  while  he  spoke  that  other  voice  was  in  my  ears  also. 

"  Should  he  die  Grace  will  be  happy  again.  Should  he 
Hve  she  will  continue  in  misery."  At  these  words,  which 
were  but  my  own  thoughts,  yet  involuntary,  I  felt  so  great 
a  pity,  such  an  overwhelming  love  for  Grace,  that  my  spirit 


366  ^'OR  FAITH  AXD  FREEDOM. 

was  wholly  carried  away.  To  restore-her  freedom  1  Oil, 
what  price  was  too  great  for  such  a  gift  ?  Nay,  I  was 
seized  with  the  thought  that  to  give  her  so  great  a  thing, 
even  my  own  destruction  would  be  a  light  price  to  pay. 
Never,  until  that  moment,  had  I  known  how  fondly  and 
truly  I  loved  her  ;  why,  if  it  were  to  be  done  over  again — 
but  this  matters  not — I  have  to  make  my  confession. 

"Humphrey,    speak!"      I    suppose    that    my   trouble 
showed  itself  in  my  face. 

"Thou  art  married  to  Grace,"  I  said,  slowly.  "That 
cannot  be  denied.  So  long  as  thou  livest,  Benjamin, 
so  long  will  she  be  robbed  of  everything  that  she  desires  ; 
so  long  will  she  be  unhappy.     Now,  if  thou  shouldst  die — " 

"Die  !  I  cannot  die;  I  must  live."  He  tried  to  raise 
himself,  but  he  was  too  weak.      "Cousin,  save  my  life!" 

"If  thou  shouldst  die,  Benjamin,"  I  went  on,  regard- 
less of  his  words,  "she  will  be  set  free.  It  is  only 
by  thy  death  that  she  can  be  set  free.  Say,  then,  to 
thyself,  "I  have  done  this  poor  woman  so  great  an  injury 
that  nothing  but  my  death  can  atone  for  it.  \\'illingly, 
therefore,  will  I  lay  down  my  life,  hoping  thus  to  atone  for 
this  abominable  wickedness." 

"  Humphrey,  do  not  mock  me.  Give  me — give  me — 
give  me  speedily  the  drug  of  which  you  spoke.  I  die — ^I 
die — oh,  give  me  of  your  drug  !  " 

Then  I  took  the  packet  containing  the  Piilvis  Jesuiticus  and 
threw  it  upon  the  fire,  where  in  a  moment  it  was  a  little 
heap  of  ashes. 

"Now,  Benjamin,"  I  said,  "I  cannot  help  thee-  lliou 
must  surely  die." 

He  shrieked,  he  wept,  he  implored  me  to  do  something  to 
keep  him  alive.      He  began  to  curse  and  to  swear. 

"No  one  can  now  save  thee,  Benjamin,"  I  told  him. 
"Not  all  the  College  of  Physicians,  not  all  the  medicines 
in  England.  Thou  must  die.  Listen  and  heed.  In  a  short 
time,  unless  thy  present  sickness  causeth  thee  to  expire,  there 
will  fall  upon  thee  another  fit  of  fever  and  delirium,  after 
which  another  interval  of  reason.  Perhaps  another ;  but  yet 
thou  must  surely  die.  Prepare  thy  soul,  therefore.  Is  there 
any  message  for  Grace  that  thou  wouldst  send  to  her,  being 
now  at  the  point  of  death  1  " 

His  only  answer  was  to  curse  and  weep  alternately. 

Then  I  knelt  beside  his  bed,  and  prayed  aloud  for  him  ; 
but  incessantly  he  cried  for  help,  wearing^  himself  out  with 
prayers  and  curses. 


hOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  367 

•* Benjamin,"  I  said,  when  I  had  thus  prayed  awhile,  but 
faiefFectually,  "  I  shall  take  to  Grace,  instead  of  these  curses, 
which  avail  nothing,  a  prayer  for  pardon,  in  order  to  touch 
her  heart  and  cause  her  to  think  of  thee  with  forgiveness,  as 
of  one  who  repented  at  the  end.  This  I  shall  do  for  her  sake. 
I  shall  also  tell  thy  father  that  thy  death  was  repentant,  and 
shall  take  to  him  also  a  prayer  for  forgiveness  as  from  thee. 
This  will  lighten  his  sorrow,  and  cause  him  to  remember 
thee  with  the  greater  love.  And  to  Robin,  too,  so  that  he 
may  cease  to  call  thee  villain,  I  will  carry  not  these  ravings 
but  a  humble  prayer,  as  from  thyself,  for  forgiveness." 

This  is  my  confession.  I,  who  might  have  saved  my  cousin, 
suffered  him  to  die. 

The  sick  man,  when  he  found  that  prayers  or  curses  would 
not  avail,  fell  to  moaning,  rolling  his  head  from  side  to  side. 
When  he  was  thus  quiet  I  prayed  again  for  him,  exhorting 
him  to  lift  up  his  soul  to  his  Judge,  and  assuring  him  of  our 
full  forgiveness.  But,  indeed,  I  know  not  if  he  heard  or  un- 
derstood. It  was  then  about  four  of  the  clock,  and  growing 
dark.  I  lit  a  candle  and  examined  him  again.  I  think  that 
he  was  now  unconscious.  He  seemed  as  if  he  slept  I  sat 
down  and  watched. 

I  think  that  at  midnight,  or  thereabouts,  I  must  have  fallen 
asleep. 

When  I  awoke  the  candle  was  out  and  the  fire  was  out 
The  room  was  in  perfect  darkness.  I  laid  my  hand  upon 
my  cousin's  forehead.     He  was  cold  and  dead. 

Then  I  heard  the  voice  of  the  watchman  in  the  street 
"Past  two  o'clock,  and  a  frosty  morning." 

The  voice  which  I  had  heard  before  whispered  again  in  my 
ear. 

"Grace  is  free,  Grace  is  free.  Thou — thou — thou  alone 
hast  set  her  free.     Thou  hast  killed  her  husband. " 

I  threw  myself  upon  my  knees,  and  spent  the  rest  of  thai 
long  night  in  seeking  for  repentance.  But,  even  as  now,  the 
lamentation  of  a  sinner  was  mingled  with  the  joy  of  think- 
ing that  Grace  was  free  at  last,  and  by  none  other  hand  than 
mine. 

This  is  my  confession.  I  might  have  saved  my  cousin, 
and  I  suffered  him  to  die.  Wherefore  I  have  left  the  profes- 
sion in  which  it  was  my  ambition  to  distinguish  myself,  and 
am  no  longer  anything  but  a  poor  and  obscurt  person  living 
on  the  charity  of  my  friends  in  a  remote  village. 

Two  days  afterwards   I   was  sitting  at  tlie  table  k)okinj> 


368  i'Ok  FAIl'M  AND  FKJ^EDOM. 

through  the  dead  man's  papers,  when  I  heard  a  footstep  o« 

the  stair. 

It  was  Bamaby,  who  broke  noisily  into  the  room. 
"Where  is    Benjamin?"    he    cried.       "Where    is    that 

villain  ?  " 

"What  do  you  want  with  him?  " 

"  I  want  to  kill  him.     I  am  come  to  kill  him." 

"Look  upon  the  bed,  Barnaby."     I  laid  back  the  sheet  and 

showed  him  the  pale  face  of  the  dead  man.      "The  hand  of 

the  Lord — or  that  of  another — hath  already  killed  him.     Art 

thou  now  content?" 


CHAPTER  LIL 

CONCLUSION. 

In  the  decline  of  years,  when  the  sixtieth  birthday  is  near 
at  hand,  and  one  looks  not  to  live  much  longer,  and  the  fu- 
ture hath  no  fresh  joy  to  bring  with  it,  but  only  infirmities 
of  age  and  pain,  it  is  profitable  and  pleasant  to  look  back 
upon  the  past,  to  observe  the  guidance  of  the  Unseen  Hand, 
to  repent  one's  sins,  and  to  live  over  again  those  seasons, 
whether  of  sorrow  or  of  joy,  which  we  now  perceive  to  have 
been  providentially  ordered. 

This  have  I  done,  both  in  reading  the  history  of  our  lives, 
as  related  by  my  mistress,  and  in  writing  this  latter  part. 
To  the  former  have  I  added  nothing,  nor  have  I  subtracted 
anything  therefrom,  because  I  would  not  suffer  the  sweet 
and  candid  soul  of  her  whom  I  have  always  loved  to  be 
tarnished  by  any  words  of  mine  breaking  in  upon  her  own 
as  jarring  notes  in  some  lovely  harmony.  It  is  strictly  laid 
upon  me  to  deliver  her  words  just  as  she  hath  written  thwn 
down. 

Now,  after  the  death  of  Benjamin,  I  took  it  upon  myself, 
being  his  cousin,  in  the  absence  of  his  father,  to  examine 
the  papers  which  he  had  left.  Among  them  I  found  abun- 
dance of  songs,  chiefly  in  praise  of  wine  and  women,  with, 
tavern  bills.  Also  there  were  notes  of  legal  cases,  very 
voluminous ;  and  I  found  notes  of  payment  made  to  various 
persons  engaged  in  inquiring  after  his  wife  in  those  towns 
of  the  West  Country  where  her  father's  name  would  pro- 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM,  369 

cure  triends  for  her.  But  there  was  no  will :  Benjamin  had 
died  (never  looking  for  so  early  an  end)  without  making  any 
will.  Therefore  all  his  estate,  including  the  manor  of  Brad- 
ford Orcas — indeed,  he  had  nothing  else — now  belonged  to 
Grace,  a  widow  who  had  never  been  a  wife. 

It  is  thirty  years  ago  and  more.  King  William  III,  is 
dead.  Queen  Anne  is  dead.  King  George,  who  cannot, 
they  say,  speak  English,  but  is  a  stout  Protestant,  sits  upon 
our  throne.  The  Nonconformists  are  free,  save  that  they 
cannot  enter  the  universities,  and  are  subject  to  other  dis- 
abilities, which  will  doubtless  be  removed  in  the  course  of 
years.  But  English  people,  I  think,  love  power  beyond  all 
earthly  things,  and  so  long  as  the  Church  is  in  a  majority, 
the  Churchmen  will  exercise  their  power  and  will  not  part 
with  it  To  us  of  Bradford  Orcas  it  matters  little.  We  wor- 
ship at  the  parish  church.  Every  Sunday  I  contemplate,  as 
I  did  fifty  years  ago,  the  monument  of  Filipa  kneeling  apart, 
and  of  her  husband  and  his  second  wife  kneeling  together. 
There  is  a  new  tablet  in  the  chancel  put  up  to  the  memory 
of  Sir  Christopher,  and  another  to  that  of  Dr.  Comfort  Eykin. 
Their  bodies  lie  somewhere  among  the  mounds  on  the  north 
side  of  Ilminster  church. 

Forty  years  ago,  as  you  have  seen,  there  stood  three  boys 
in  tho  garden  of  the  manor-house,  discoursing  on  their 
future.  One  wished  never  to  go  anywhere,  but  to  remain 
always  a  country  gentleman,  like  his  grandfather ;  one 
would  be  a  great  lawyer,  a  judge,  even  the  lord  chancellor; 
the  third  would  be  a  great  physician.  Lo  !  the  end  of  all. 
The  first,  but  after  divers  miseries,  perils,  and  wanderings, 
hath  attained  to  his  desire ;  the  second  lies  buried  in  the 
churchyard  of  SL  Andrews,  Holborn,  forgotten  long  since 
by  his  companions — who  indeed  are  now  with  him  in  the 
pit — and  remembered  only  among  his  own  kin  for  the  great 
wickedness  which  he  wrought  before  the  Lord ;  and  as  for 
the  third  and  last,  no  illustrious  physician  is  he,  but  one 
who  lives  obscure,  but  content,  in  a  remote  village,  in  the 
very  cottage  where  his  mistress  was  born,  with  books  and 
music,  and  the  society  of  the  sweetest  woman  who  ever 
graced  this  earth  for  his  solace.  She  was  always  gracious 
— she  was  gracious  in  her  childhood  ;  gracious  as  a  maiden  ; 
more  gracious  still  is  she  in  these  latter  days  when  her  hair 
is  gray  and  her  daughters  stand  about  her  tall   and  comely. 

Now,  had  I  administered  that  powder — that  sovereign 
remedy  (the  Pulvis  Jesuitkus) — what  would  have  been  hex 

7u\ 


370  i''OK  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

"Humphrey,"  said  Robin.  "  a  penny  for  thy  thoughts.* 

"  Robin,  I  was  thinking — it  is  not  a  new  thing,  but  thirty 
years  old — that  Cousin  Benjamin  never  did  anything  in  his 
life  so  useful  as  to  die. " 

"Ay.  Poor  Benjamin  !  That  he  had  at  the  end  the  grace 
to  ask  our  forgiveness  and  to  repent  hath  in  it  something  of 
a  miracle.  We  have  long  forgiven  him.  But  consider.  We 
were  saved  from  the  fight ;  we  were  saved  from  the  sea  ; 
we  were  saved  from  slavery  ;  we  were  enabled  to  strike 
the  last  blow  for  the  Protestant  religion.  What  were  all 
these  blessings  worth  if  Benjamin  still  lived  1  To  think, 
Humphrey,  that  Grace  would  never  have  been  my  wife, 
and  never  a  mother,  and  all  these  children  should  have  re- 
mained unborn.  I  say,  that  though  we  may  not  desire  the 
death  of  a  sinner,  we  were  not  human  if  we  rejoiced  not  at 
the  death  of  our  poor  cousin." 

Yes,  that  is  the  thought  which  will  not  suffer  me  to  re- 
pent A  pinch  of  the  Pidvis  Jesuiticus,  and  he  might  have 
been  living  unto  this  very  day.  Then  would  Grace  have 
lost  the  crowning  blessing  of  a  woman's  life. 

Yet,  I  was,  it  is  true,  a  physician,  whose  duty  it  is  to 
save  life — even  the  life  of  the  wretched  criminal  who  is  to 
die  upon  the  gallows. 

Yet,  again.  If  he  had  been  saved.  As  I  write  these  lines 
I  see  my  mistress  walking  down  the  village  street.  She 
looks  over  my  garden  gate ;  she  lifts  the  latchet  and  enters, 
smiling  gravely  and  tenderly.  A  sober  happiness  sits  upon 
her  brow.  The  terror  of  her  first  marriage  has  long  been 
forgotten. 

Why,  as  I  watch  her  tranquil  life,  busy  with  her  house- 
hold and  her  children  ;  full  of  the  piety  which  asks  not — as 
her  father  was  wont  to  ask — how  and  where  the  mercy  of 
Heaven  is  limited,  and  if,  indeed,  it  will  embrace  all  she 
loves  ;  as  I  mark  the  tender  love  of  husband  and  of  children, 
which  lies  around  her  like  a  garment  and  prevents  all  her 
doings,  there  comes  back  to  me  continually  a  bedroom  in 
which  a  man  lies  dying.  Again  in  memory,  again  in  m- 
/entio?i,  I  throw  upon  the  fire  that  handful  oi  Pulvis  Jesuiticus 
K^hich  should  have  driven  away  his  fever  and  restored  him 
to  health  again.  A  great  and  strong  man  he  was,  who 
might  have  lived  till  eighty  years.  Where  then  would  have 
been  that  love,  where  those  children,  where  that  tranquil 
heart,  and  that  contented  mind  ?  " Tzvili  not  save  his  life"  I 
say  apain,  in  my  mind,  '*  Iwil/  not  save  him.     He  shall  die." 

"Humphrey,"  my    mistress    says,    "leave  thy    books 


FOJi  FAITH  AA'D  FREEDOM,  371 

awhile  and  walk  with  me.  The  winter  sun  is  warm  upon 
the  hills.  Come,  dear  cousin.  It  is  the  day  when  Ben- 
jamin died,  repentant  What  better  could  we  wish  ?  What 
greater  blessing  could  have  been  bestowed  upon  him  and 
upon  us  than  a  true  repentance  and  to  die  ?  Oh,  dear  bro- 
ther, let  us  walk  and  talk  of  these  blessings  which  have 
been  showered  upon  my  und^erving  head" 


r 

i 


THE   END. 


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